#and how GOOD it feels when you can FINALLY stop pretending that things are good and you’re normal | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bapeach · 2 days ago

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Stuttering heart

Another Azzi fic! I just feel like she'd be the sweetest girl ever. Hope you all enjoy! Constructive criticism is always welcome :D Find my masterlist here :)

Pairing(s): Azzi Fudd x female!reader Word count: 6.2k+ Warnings: Cursing, stuttering Summary: In which your voice isn't the only thing that stutters, but your heart as well. ------------

UConn was the place to be if you wanted to be someone in the world. To some people, at least. You were one of them. You’ve wanted to go to UConn since you were 11 years old, and now, 7 years later, you’re living the dream.

Okay, maybe living the dream was a slight overexaggeration that you told your parents to make them stop worrying about you. But you were happy. You were studying something you actually cared about and weren’t struggling all that much. So what if you didn’t live the typical college student life, going to parties every week? You’d much rather curl up in bed with a good book and some great music. And so what if you didn’t have any friends? You didn’t need anyone. You’d gone through your life alone for most of it anyway.

Whenever your parents asked, however, you always lied about how much fun you were having with your new besties. You just didn��t want them worrying about you when you were miles from home. You also didn’t want to hear your mom nag about how you need to go out more and actually talk to people. You’d tried that when you were younger, but it just didn’t work.

The whole making friends thing wouldn’t be so bad if you didn’t suffer from social anxiety and didn’t also have a speech impediment. You’ve had a pretty bad stutter your entire life, which always gets worse when you’re nervous. And so nerves make the stutter worse, which makes the nerves worse, which means you get stuck in a vicious cycle. Always being left a stammering mess at the slightest inconvenience.

It was really bad when you were still young. The kids in your school constantly bullied you for being different. They’d always mock you and tease you but pretend to be nice kids when the teachers were around. It took you a while to tell your parents about the abuse you suffered in school, but when you finally did, they let you stay home. So you were homeschooled for most of your life. Your parents couldn’t exactly give you a whole college degree at home, though. So now you were at UConn!

Thankfully, you’re mainly surrounded by mature adults now, so the bullying was over. That sadly didn’t mean that they understood, though. Most people don’t really have the patience to listen to someone when they can barely say 2 words without a stutter coming through. You can see it in their eyes, the way they dart around the room, looking for an escape. Or you can tell by the way they try to help by finishing your sentences for you. You suppose it’s nice of them to try to help, but in reality, it’s just annoying. It completely throws you off, making you forget what you’re trying to say. Or it just makes you feel like an inconvenience.

So yeah, you didn’t really try to socialize with the students around you. You’d accepted your lonely life a long time ago and had made your peace with it. You never raised your hand in class, emailing the professor when you had any questions. You avoided group projects, opting to do all the work alone over having to deal with the anxiety of talking to your peers. So, maybe it wasn’t the best life you were living, but you tried to make the most out of it.

-----

You’re making your way out of the library when you first bump into her. You’d planned on getting some studying done in a quiet corner, surrounded by the smell of books, but the universe had other plans. Or, well, all the other students with the same idea did. The library is filled to the brim with people, so you’ll have to make do with studying in a coffee shop nearby.

You grip your books a little tighter as you walk, eyes trained on the floor. You don’t notice the athlete making her way towards you until you crash into her. You fall down, dropping your textbooks along with the articles you’d planned to read. You quickly get up into a crouch as you start collecting your stuff, as well as the papers from the person you’d run into. “S-s-s-s-orry,” you mutter, still not looking up as your face turns red with embarrassment from both running into someone and your stammered apology. A hand enters your view as the person helps you grab everything.

“Don’t worry about it,” you hear a female voice say. You finally glance up and freeze for a moment. The angelic voice belonged to an actual angel. Your heart skips a few beats as you feel your mouth drop open a little. The girl in front of you might just be the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen. Even though she’s crouched down, you can tell she’s tall and athletic. She has big, beautiful eyes that twinkle in the light. Her soft-looking lips are curved into a sweet smile. A smile that reaches her eyes and can melt the heart of anyone.

Once you’ve both grabbed everything, the brunette stands up, one hand holding some books as the other is stretched out towards you, ready to pull you up. You accept her hand as you stand up. Her hand feels both soft and rough at the same time. You smile awkwardly at her as she looks at the items she’s holding, trying to figure out which ones are hers and which ones are yours. You stare at her a moment longer before looking through your own pile.

“Oh my God, you also have Mr. Davis? Is he also such an assh- I mean, is he also super strict in your class?” She asks, a small grin forming on her face at her slip up. She tilts her head a little as she waits for an answer. You swallow harshly, hoping you won’t completely embarrass yourself in front of the goddess standing before you. “Yeah, he’s p-p-p-pretty s-s-s-strict,” you mutter, clenching your jaw in annoyance at the stammer. You prepare for the inevitable. The classic “Why are you stuttering? Are you nervous?” or maybe the typical awkward smile as people try to get away from having a conversation with you.

You’re surprised to see and hear none of that. Instead, the girl’s smile softens just a bit, her eyes still looking into yours. “I have an assignment of his due tomorrow, and I honestly have no clue what I’m doing. He’s also too much of a jerk to give people an extension, so I’m screwed,” she huffs as her lips form into a pout. She straightens up a bit, her smile returning. “I’m so sorry, I just realized I never introduced myself! I’m Azzi,” she grins, stretching out her hand to shake yours. You hesitantly shake it as you open your mouth to speak. “I’m Y/N,” you reply, exhaling a sigh of relief when you don’t stutter.

You’re about to hand Azzi her papers when you see the assignment she was talking about. It was the same one you’d finished working on yesterday, and it was definitely not an easy one. Before you can overthink it, you start speaking. “I can help you if you w-w-want?”

The brunette’s smile becomes even wider. “Really? You’d do that?” You can already feel regret bubbling up in your chest as you realize you’ll have to talk a lot if you want to help her. You almost back out, but you can’t. Not when Azzi is looking at you with those wide, hopeful eyes.

“Mhm,” you hum as you shrug your shoulders. “Thank you so much! Are you free right now?” she asks as she taps her fingers against the spine of the book she’s holding. You open your mouth to reply, but shut it again, instead choosing to simply nod. “Alright, let’s go,” she grins. She starts making her way to the library when you gently grab her arm to stop her. “The library is f-f-full. Wanna go to a c-c-coffee sh-sh-shop?” You ask, nervously scratching your arm.

“Sure! Have you been to the one that only just opened? I swear their coffee is the best I've ever had,” she claims, leading the way. You shake your head as you follow her. The whole way to the café, Azzi talks about everything and nothing. From Mr. Davis’ class to her upcoming basketball game (You knew it, there was no way she wasn’t an athlete!).

You listen to her voice, nodding and shaking your head at the right times. You reply when she has questions, but you try to avoid talking when you can. Whenever you do speak, however, your heart swells a little. Not once does the brunette try to hurry you up or talk over you. She patiently waits for you, the smile on her face never leaving.

When you reach the shop, the athlete tells you she’ll order the drinks as you go find a seat. You give her your order with a small smile before finding a table. Once Azzi has the drinks, she hands you yours and plops down with a smile. You grab your wallet to pay her back, but she holds up her hand to stop you. “No, no, it’s okay! Consider this payment for your help.”

You start shaking your head, ready to tell her she doesn’t have to pay you for that. You don’t get the chance to, however, as Azzi gives you a playful glare. You sag your shoulders with a huff, but a smile makes its way onto your face as you hear the brunette giggle.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road,” she says, looking at you with hopeful eyes. You give her a firm nod as you crack your knuckles. You spend the next 45 minutes explaining the assignment, giving examples, and showing her a step-by-step on how to solve the issue. Once she finally understands, she makes the task before looking at you for approval. You quickly scan the page as a bright smile makes its way to your face. You show her 2 thumbs up as she cheers, leaning back in her seat with relief.

You can’t believe you’d just spend almost an hour with someone who wasn’t a family member, and you didn’t even feel bad once. Every time you got stuck on a word, the brunette would just calmly wait for you to continue. She’d look at you with kind eyes and a relaxed posture, never once getting annoyed or losing her patience.

It’s silly how you haven’t even known Azzi for a day, but you already feel so safe in her company. Is this what it was like to have a friend? You feel a pit grow in your stomach as you realize you’ll both go your own ways again soon and probably won’t ever talk again. Because sure, Azzi didn’t mind spending some time with you, but it’s not like she’d want to be your friend and deal with you all the time, right?

You get shaken out of your thoughts as the athlete speaks again. “How about we exchange numbers? You seem like a cool person to hang out with outside of school stuff,” she says, her pearly whites on display. You stare at her in shock for a moment. It feels like you somehow ended up in a movie. The pretty and popular jock befriending the shy, nerdy girl.

“I mean, we don’t have to if you don’t wanna! No pressure!” She continues as you don’t reply. “N-n-no! That’d be n-n-n-n-,” you sigh in frustration as you clench your fist. “Jesus Christ, can I please just speak like a normal person for once?” You think to yourself. A warm hand lands on your clenched one. You look into Azzi’s eyes as she sends you an encouraging nod.

“Exchanging n-n-numbers would be n-nice,” you stammer, but you don’t break eye contact. The athlete grins as she grabs her phone and hands it to you. You try to suppress the disappointment that goes through you when Azzi takes her hand off of yours. You give her your own phone before quickly adding yourself as a new contact in hers. A tiny grin curls on your lips as you see hers. “Azzi 🏀👸🩷”

“I need to head off. ‘ve got practice soon, but we’ll talk, yeah?” The basketball player states as she starts getting up. You follow her lead, planning on leaving your own schoolwork for some other time. You think you deserve some time to relax after how well you’d done this afternoon. “Okay, good luck at p-p-practice,” you mumble with a grin. She sends one of her own in return, as well as a playful wink, before leaving. For a minute you stand still in the quiet coffee shop, your chest warm but light.

The smile on your face doesn’t leave for the rest of the day.

You don’t hear from Azzi the next day, but you don’t mind. (Really, you didn’t. You just kept checking your phone to uh… see if your mom had any updates on her newest plants! Or maybe your dad needed some help with his e-mails again!). Maybe it would’ve been too good to be true. What are the chances an angel like her would want to befriend you?

The following day, you don’t expect anything, either. You figure Azzi just wanted to be polite and didn’t actually want to hang out again. You’re in the middle of writing a boring essay when your phone buzzes. You know you shouldn’t look, being well aware that you’ll get distracted and push aside your work. But what if you’d gotten an important message? You eye your phone for a few seconds before rolling your eyes and grabbing it. Your breath catches in your throat as you see it’s from your… friend? Acquaintance? From Azzi.

She sent a picture of her assignment with a few happy faces. The assignment has a big red A marked on the corner. Your heart fills with happiness at the fact that she let you know she did well. You quickly send a reply congratulating her, your homework completely forgotten.

Azzi immediately sees the message and starts typing. You quickly close out of the messages as you bite your nail nervously. When your phone buzzes once more, you look at the text through your notification bar, too anxious to let her know you’re reading it.

“Do you have any classes left today?” The message reads. You open the app again as you reply, “Nope, what about you?” You press send before throwing your phone on the bed next to you as you get up and pace around. You were glad the brunette was texting you, but at the same time, it made your anxiety skyrocket.

Buzz buzz

“I’m free for the rest of the day” “Wanna get lunch together to celebrate? My treat, as a thanks”

Your cheeks blaze a bright red at the invitation. You quickly start replying. “Lunch sounds nice :) Also you really don’t have to do that! You already paid for my coffee!!” You bite your lip anxiously, scared you’re coming on too strong with the exclamation marks. “That was a thank you for explaining the assignment, this is a thank you for getting me an A 😁” You shake your head in amusement. “I’m not going to be able to change your mind, am I?”

A giggle escapes your mouth as you see her react with a 😛. Your smile drops when you read her next message. “Text me your dorm number, I’ll come pick you up” You freeze for a moment, realizing you’re about to hang out with a pretty girl for the second time this week, and this time, you had time to prepare. Sure, it wasn’t a lot of time, but enough to make you panic about how you can fix your appearance quickly to somewhat look okay.

You text her your room number before getting up and running to your closet. You stumble out of your pajama pants while simultaneously trying to take off your coffee-stained shirt. You hurriedly put together an outfit that looks nice but doesn’t make it seem like you’re trying too hard. After a lot of tumbling and cursing, you finally finish getting dressed. You spin around your room a few times trying to locate your hairbrush while also attempting to put on your shoes.

Once you’re happy with your appearance, you sit down on your bed and take a deep breath. “Chill before you give yourself a panic attack,” you think to yourself. Once you’ve calmed down a bit, you walk over to your desk and grab everything you’ll need later. You take one last look around your room, making sure you’ve not forgotten anything, when you hear a knock on your door. You wipe your sweaty hands on your pants before making your way towards the door.

“Hi,” Azzi says with a beaming smile. “Hi,” you grin back. You lock your door behind you before making your way down the hall with the athlete beside you. “I honestly still can’t believe I got an A on that assignment. I didn’t even know Mr. Davis gave people A’s.” Azzi starts the conversation.

“Yeah, he r-r-rarely gives out A’s, and f-f-f-for some r-r-r-reason h-h-h-e,” you huff in annoyance with how much you’re struggling to speak right now. You shake your head a little, letting the brunette know she can ignore you. You feel a familiar heat crawl up your face.

You knew this would happen. You were hanging out with someone you barely know, who is extremely pretty, and who is definitely way too cool to be your friend. It’s a surprise you’ve been able to say some words without stuttering, with the nerves you’re feeling.

“He what?” Azzi asks, looking at you with wide eyes, her head slightly tilted with interest. Your blush burns even brighter, but this time it’s not from embarrassment but rather the adoration you have for the taller girl. “H-he seems to h-h-h-,” you clear your throat, taking a quick glance at Azzi. She still has that easy, calming smile on her face as she listens to you. “hate to give p-p-people an A… Which d-d-doesn’t make sense, because he’s a t-t-teacher, so he should be happy that his s-s-s-students score well.”

You’re surprised with yourself. You try to avoid talking as much as you can, but with Azzi it’s different. She listens to you. Really listens to you. It makes you actually want to have proper conversations with her. Because she’s the only person outside of your family and speech therapist that doesn’t seem to judge you.

Azzi chuckles as she nods her head. “Yeah, it makes no sense at all. I hate teachers like that! Why become a professor if you’re gonna hate your job and students?” You send her a grin before looking away. You continue to listen to the athlete ramble about the professors she loves and hates, adding your own opinions as well.

You spend hours with the girl. The lunch “date” spilling over into a walk around campus as you both enjoy each other’s company. You make sure to have a pit stop for ice cream, giving the employee your card before Azzi has the chance to pay again. When hours have passed, and the skies have become a mix of oranges, pinks, and purples, you finally decide to call it a day.

The brunette walks you back to your dorm before wishing you a goodnight with the promise of another hangout soon. You give her a tiny salute, regretting it immediately when you realize what you’re doing. Your regret melts away the second you hear Azzi’s sweet laugh, her eyes crinkling as she smiles widely. She shakes her head in amusement and adoration as she gives you a salute back before leaving.

Not long after she’s gone, you get a message saying she made it to her dorm safely. You heart the message before getting ready for bed. Your chest feels warm with giddiness as you crawl underneath your blanket. Once you finally fall asleep, you dream of a beautiful, tall girl holding your hand as you walk on the beach, without a worry in the world.

The following weeks, you and Azzi text every day. You give each other updates on how classes are going, talk about your families, and laugh at each other’s silly stories. You even arrange some more hangouts. You’ve already made plans to meet up at the library to study together, the coffee shop to give life updates, and even your dorm for movie nights.

Your heart feels light when your parents ring you for their scheduled video call. You tell them about the new friend you’ve made and how much you’ve been enjoying university lately. Your chest is free from the familiar ache, as you don’t have to lie to them for once. You’re in the middle of recounting your latest adventure with the tall girl when your phone buzzes. You pause your story for a moment, glancing at the message. “Is that her?” Your mom interrogates you with a tiny smirk. You roll your eyes at her, but you can’t hide the smile that’s growing on your face.

“Mhm,” you hum. “She wants to h-hang out later,” you reply as your eyes linger on your phone. “We’ll let you go then, sweetie,” your dad says with an affectionate wink. You’re glad they don’t tease you any longer, saying their goodbyes. The second your laptop screen goes dark, you snatch up your phone, typing a reply. “Sounds good!”

“Great! Would you mind if my team also comes over? They wanna meet you” Azzi replies. You feel a pit form in your stomach but feel a bit calmed when you see the next message come in. “You can totally say no! No pressure :)” You feel your heart swell two sizes as you read the comforting words. The brunette always made sure you were comfortable, never making you do anything you weren’t into. She always picked up on your anxiety the second you started feeling nervous. She’d even googled all the ways you can help someone out of a panic attack after learning you struggled with them sometimes.

Azzi is your first ever friend, and you’re extremely grateful to have her in your life. You hope you two will stay friends for a long time, which is why you hate yourself for falling for her. She can never find out. She’d probably finally realize that being your friend wasn’t a good idea, and then you’d be all alone again.

You don’t realize you’ve zoned out until your phone buzzes again. “Y/N seriously, don’t worry about it! I can see you’ve read my messages and I know you’re probably freaking out but you don’t have to, I’ll tell them now isn’t a great time :))”

You immediately start typing back. “No no! I’d love to meet them too! When should I come over?” Azzi was right, of course, you were freaking out, but that didn’t mean you were going to let her cancel on her friends for you. Besides, you really did want to get to know the girls from Azzi’s stories. If they were as great as the brunette says they are, you had nothing to worry about. You’d also seen the team pass by on your TikTok plenty of times to know they were some of the funniest people you’ll ever meet.

“I’m just chilling rn, so whenever you’re free you can come over :) the girls won’t be here for another 2h so we can relax a little before then if you want? :D” You let her know you’ll be at her dorm in 10 minutes, not even letting yourself rethink anything. You quickly get ready, giving yourself a brief glance in the mirror before leaving.

When you knock on the athlete’s door, it opens almost immediately. Your heart skips a beat as you see Azzi’s dazzling smile. “Hey! Come in, come in!” She beams. You grin as you follow her to her room. She plops down on her bed, patting it to invite you in. She grabs her laptop, putting on a show you two had started a while ago but never really cared for that much. The taller girl knew you liked having something as background noise as you talked, so all the focus and pressure wouldn’t be on you.

You’re in the middle of a story when you see Azzi’s expression shift. She’d been looking at you with wide, interested eyes and a tiny smile as she listened, but now her eyes look softer. You can almost see a hint of… adoration? In her eyes. Her smile looks more real too. “W-what?” You stutter as your ears start burning.

The brunette shakes her head softly before saying, “I just… I’ve noticed you’ve started stuttering less when you’re with me.” Her voice is barely louder than a whisper, but you hear it perfectly fine with how close you two are sitting. You look down, trying to not let her see the blush on your face, but you know there’s no way she could miss it.

“Y-yeah, I guess I’ve just b-b-become more comfortable around you,” you mutter back before looking her in the eyes. You see Azzi’s own cheeks change into a different shade. As she opens her mouth to reply, a knock can be heard on the door. You both jump in surprise before the athlete gets up to go open the door.

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, and you’re not fully sure why that is. Is it because the team had arrived? Or is it because you only just noticed how close you and Azzi were sitting when you’d jumped apart?

You take a sip of water, trying to calm your nerves. As you’re putting the bottle down, KK and Paige bounce into the room. Azzi is quick to follow, settling back down beside you and sliding her hand over yours below the blanket. A few seconds later, the other girls walk in, but you’re too overwhelmed by Paige and KK to notice. You look like a startled deer as they excitedly introduce themselves, pushing their hands towards you to shake them. Azzi doesn’t hesitate to slap their hands away with an amused grin as she shakes her head. “Can you guys please be normal for once?” She asks, sending you a smile when she hears you chuckle at her friends’ chaos.

The excited girls pout as the rest of the team introduces themselves as well. You can already feel the nerves melt away by just being near them. They just have this aura that makes you feel comfortable. Once everyone is done, you introduce yourself as well. “H-h-hey, I’m-m Y/N, it’s nice to m-m-m-meet you guys.”

You see KK’s eyes widen a little at your stutter before she looks over at Paige. The blonde immediately gives her a little push with a quick shake of her head. They’re subtle enough that no one else notices, but you’d grown up watching the people around you and blending in, so it wasn’t a surprise you’d caught their interaction. You send Paige a thankful smile, sending KK a grin as well to let her know you aren’t upset. You’re used to people giving you looks when they hear you stammer. You also know that the team didn’t mean anything bad by it, they probably just didn’t expect it.

The girls all find a spot to settle down in, some on the floor, some on the beanbag in the corner of the room, while KK sits on Azzi’s desk chair, spinning it in circles. As you all hang out, your smile never leaves your face. Have you ever laughed this much before? If you weren’t chuckling at Paige’s sass, you were laughing at KK’s dramatics. During the rare moments when they shut up, Nika’s voice fills the air as she teases the younger girls. The constant murmur of voices makes you feel a type of comfort you’ve never felt before.

Right now, you’re listening to a funny story Paige is telling as KK and Ice squabble in their corner of the room. You feel lighter than air with the relief of feeling like you finally fit in. Thankfully, Azzi is there to ground you. Somehow, you two have ended up fully leaning against each other, the brunette’s arm around your waist. You don’t know how you got here, but you weren’t complaining.

You can feel yourself becoming a bright shade of red as Paige glances at Azzi’s hand on your hip before looking up at you and wiggling her eyebrows. You look down as you try to hide your blush and the smile that can’t seem to leave your face. Feeling the brunette squeeze your side, you look over at her with a raised eyebrow. She mouths the words, “Are you okay?” making sure you’re doing alright without alerting the others. You stare at her lips a moment longer than you should before sending her a tight-lipped smile and a nod.

You quickly look back at Paige, checking to see if she’d noticed the whole interaction. The blue-eyed girl is already facing you with a smug look. You roll your eyes and stick your tongue out playfully, feeling a bit surprised at how at ease you feel, even after getting teased.

When the skies become a dark shade of gray, the team slowly starts dispersing. The girls all give you their number, demanding you all hang out again soon. Paige is the last to leave, sending you both a sleepy wave as she closes the door behind her. You don’t miss the sly wink she sends your way when Azzi turns towards you.

You sit up a bit straighter as you stretch your arms and crack your back. The brunette sends you a playful look of disgust, scrunching up her nose as she hears your joints pop. You give her a wide, innocent grin. “I should get g-going,” you sigh, not wanting to part with the girl just yet. “Stay,” Azzi says, her voice barely above a whisper. You look back at her, a little shocked at the request. Her brown eyes meet yours. Her shoulders look a little more tense than usual, but her face looks calm and steady. “Okay,” you whisper back.

Azzi’s shoulders immediately relax as she sends you a soft smile. She gets up and walks over to her closet, finding you something to wear. “Is this okay?” She asks, holding up a pair of her shorts and a shirt with her basketball number on it. “Mhm,” you hum, trying not to blush at the fact that you’ll be wearing her clothes, her number.

After she hands you the clothes, you walk over to the bathroom and get ready for bed. You take an extra minute to let your face cool down after seeing yourself in the mirror. Once you’ve calmed down, you walk back into the bedroom and over to Azzi’s bed. The athlete’s eyes linger on you for a moment before she briskly walks into the bathroom to get ready herself.

You don’t see the brunette’s reddened cheeks as she goes to hide. You can’t tell Azzi is splashing water in her face to calm down as her mind goes a million miles per hour at how cute you look in her clothes. You’re completely unaware of the fact that your crush is fully losing her mind about the fact that she has fallen for you.

When Azzi returns, she crawls into the bed next to you, sliding down so you’re face to face. Your left hand is lying under your head, as your right lays between you two. She mimics your position before slowly sliding her hand into yours. Azzi sends you a soft smile, receiving one of your own in return. The smile doesn’t leave your face as you fall asleep staring at the angel in front of you.

When you wake up the next morning, the bed feels cold and empty. You frown a little as you get up. You pad over to the bathroom, scratching your head when you don’t see Azzi in there either. You swiftly get ready before making your way to the living room. You immediately see Paige and Azzi as they’re leaning over the kitchen counter. They’re both leaning in close, talking in hushed voices, before the blonde notices you in the doorway. She loudly clears her throat, straightening up as she exclaims, “Y/N! Good morning!”

“M-morning,” you say softly, sending Azzi a raised eyebrow. You wonder if something is wrong when she sends you an awkward smile that looks more like a grimace than anything. Noticing her look, Paige gives her a tiny push with her elbow before walking over to you. “So, do you have any classes today?” She asks.

“Y-yeah, in an hour… I should probably head b-b-back to my dorm to get r-r-ready,” you reply as you grab your stuff. You give Azzi a questioning look as she awkwardly stands behind Paige, looking down at the floor.

“Okay, w-well… See you guys l-later, I guess,” you say as you give them a small wave before leaving. You hear Paige turn to Azzi and say, “Oh my God, bro,” as you close the door with a small frown. Did you do something wrong? Did she find out you have a crush on her, and did she hate you?

You barely pay attention to your classes, still too focused on the way Azzi was acting this morning. Around noon, she texts you, wishing you good luck in Mr. Davis’ class, like she always does. You feel a bit more at ease, figuring you’re probably overthinking stuff. The athlete sends you her usual good night message when she goes to bed, as well as a routine good morning. You let the weird morning fall to the back of your mind as you both continue everything like normal.

Your nerves flare up again when a few days pass and Azzi doesn’t text you anything other than a good morning. She doesn’t even look at the messages you send in return, though she usually replies within a few minutes. By the time it’s noon and hours have passed, you’re pacing your dorm so much, you think you might leave a walking trail on the carpet. You’re biting your nails, the pit in your stomach growing by the minute. Your mind is floating with thoughts of something having happened to her or her not wanting to be your friend anymore.

You get shaken out of your thoughts when you hear a knock on the door. You quickly walk over, hoping it’s the girl you can’t stop thinking about. When you open the door, you lose your breath for a moment. In front of you, Azzi is standing, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers. She swallows harshly, looking at you nervously but also with determination.

She clears her throat a little, gripping the flowers a bit harder. “Hi,” she says. “Hi,” you breathe out, staring at her with wide eyes. “Listen, I… I really like you and… Damn it, I had this whole speech planned, but now that I’m here, I’m completely blanking,” she says as she starts frowning, looking at the floor.

You take a step closer to her, now standing halfway into the hallway. “Azzi…” you whisper, biting your lip to stop yourself from smiling. She looks back up at you before taking a deep breath. “I really like you, and it’s completely fine if you don’t like me back, but… I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me?” She says, trusting the flowers forward. You take them with a wide smile. “I’d love t-that,” you reply.

Your heart skips another beat as her face brightens. She pulls you into a hug, squeezing you tightly while making sure not to crush the flowers. You wrap your arms around her waist as you put your face in the crook of her neck. Inhaling deeply, you relax into her hold. You pinch yourself, making sure you’re not dreaming, grinning even wider when you realize you’re not.

You let go of each other as you hear a “YES!” from a few feet away. You both look towards the end of the hallway, seeing Paige peeking around the corner. The girl’s eyes widen as she quickly moves back behind the wall. You giggle as Azzi huffs. “I swear that girl cannot be normal.” “HEY!” The blonde yells back but doesn’t show herself. “Nor can she be subtle!” Azzi raises her voice. “Sorry!” Paige apologizes before you hear her retreating footsteps.

You grin up at Azzi, who’s rolling her eyes in amusement. “Sorry about that. I practiced my speech with her and told her to stay in our dorm, but she’s Paige, so she didn’t listen.” You shake your head, your eyes twinkling in entertainment as you pull the brunette into your dorm.

You two have a date to plan, after all.

#azzi fudd x reader #azzi x reader #oneshot #imagine #azzi fudd oneshot #uconn wbb #azzi fudd #azzi x you #uconn huskies #azzi fudd x fem!reader #wlw fanfic #BaPeach writes

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dervampireprince · 2 days ago

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there was a little interest in me sharing my writing drabbles and ideas about lucien (my visiting king oc) and lysander (my villain oc) as a couple so here's all the things i shared in my discord last week (how was it only last week, it feels like forever ago).

[18+ only, minors dni]

note: lucien and lysander are both trans men with bottom and top surgery

i tried to format this in a way that's readable. it's a mix of different little scenarios including my entire summary of their plot of how they'd meet and get together. i had no idea how to format thisss.

-----------------------------

the message that started it all: peaking in from my uhh 3 hours of drawing as i attempt to make a design for the villain and keep hating what im drawing and scrapping the design and starting again to say hey. you know who'd treat him right? the visiting king

i thought about it as a joke but um. i dont think its a joke anymore.

-----------------------------

What if I shipped them:

Villain submitting looks like him crying, head throne back, sobbing, the king gently and slowly breaking him down, praising him, cradling him

King submitting looks like him on his knees, begging as the villain’s boot presses down onto his cock, begging to be touched however the villain sees fit, villain telling him how useful he is being

Luce: I missed you. Ly: I was only gone for a week. Luce: Even an hour without your presence feels like a lifetime [kisses his hand]. Ly: [internally: what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck] [blushing profusely]

Lysander crying the first time Lucien fucks him because he’s being so gentle, works him open so slowly, tells him how beautiful he is, “Oh Zander,” Lucien coos when he’s finally seated inside him, Lysander embarrassed at how emotional he is, but Lucien pulls his hands from his face, kisses his them, tells him he’s perfect.

Lysander leaving Lucien with a cock ring on while he’s away.

Lucien is on his knees, ring around his straining cock. His moans are muffled, his hair tugged back and forth, as Lysander fucks his face. When Lysander pulls his cock out, Lucien begs. “Please Zander, please let me fuck you.” “Hmm,” Lysander pretends to think about it while Lucien keeps babbling, pleading over and over. “And what if I want to fuck you?” “Anything,” Lucien doesn’t even blink. “As long as my skin gets to touch yours, please, give me anything.” And what really can Lysander do with that other than have Lucien bent over the bed, fucking into him over and over, every time he gets close… he stops. He edges himself inside Lucien’s hole, all the while Lucien is unable to come from the ring around his cock. Once Lucien is relaxed and out of his mind enough to stop begging, to just take whatever Lysander gives him, to stop thinking, that’s when Lysander will let him come.

okay so how i see it happening.

lucien somehow finds out about what's going on in lysander's city and wants to help. they start meeting each other. lysander does not trust him, doesn't want to trust him, because he's never been able to put any trust or faith in a nobility or royalty or higher ups. but lucien just seems so... nice. good. and that can't be right, no one can be that nice without something to gain, without some agenda.

but time passes. lucien is really just that nice. and he sees good in lysander. and lysander knows what he's doing isn't wrong, he believes what he's doing is right, but he also doesn't really believe he's a good person. and lucien tells him he is. and that annoys him because it makes him *feel*.

and lucien ends up helping too much. or doing something to help lysander's people that makes lysander feel inept. who does lucien think he is, swooping in with his riches and power. doing things for them lysander couldn't because he didn't have the money. and maybe lysander takes it as lucien trying to make him feel small and poor, but that isn't how lucien meant it. and lysander knows that deep down. but it's easier to get angry at lucien than accept that it's okay if he wants or needs this man's help. so he gets angry at lucien.

and lysander know's he's wrong for blowing up at him. for pushing him away. and after an amount of time of feeling sorry for himself, he goes to see lucien. shows up on his doorstep and apologies. and lucien just accepts it. this stupid fucking kind man just accepts it, says he understands, *he* apologies for overstepping, that he should have consulted lysander, doesn't want to cross any boundaries, tells lysander he's doing a good job and that wall inside lysander just comes crumbling down.

lysander stays the night, in his own room lucien has set aside. and in the morning lucien invites him for breakfast. and then on a walk, touring his gardens. and lysander asks what the fuck all of this is. and lucien says he just wants to help, but admits to having one ulterior motive. and lysander thinks finally he's got him but the lucien says "i wanted an excuse to keep seeing you".

lysander calls him a stupid man. blusters and tries to act like he doesn't understand what lucien is getting at, but he does. and lucien just stands there patiently, until lysander has finished ranting, and then asks lysander if he can court him. if he can kiss him.

and lysander says yes.

Lysander telling Lucien to stop fucking him like he’s gonna break. Lucien says he’s not into causing pain. But Lysander’s not asking for pain, he’s just asking if Lucien ever wants to just pound into him. It takes some convincing that he’s allowed too (Lucien is worried he’s too big and could too easily hurt someone) but Lysander assures him that he wants to be fucked hard.

#sorry if its formatted weird i just wanted it to be readable #its a bunch of different scenarios so i didnt want people confused or to see just one big wall of text #the vampire writes #lucien #lysander #lucien x lysander #visiting king #villain x hero #nsft writing #nsft concept #royalty kink #the vampires ocs #regency kink

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alittlegiraffe · 3 days ago

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Title: Stand By Me (Part 2)

Part 3

The silence in the car was thick, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was the kind of silence that settled deep, like the weight of something you’d been carrying for too long finally starting to lift. You weren’t sure how to process it yet, but the difference was undeniable.

Marshall kept one hand on the wheel, the other still holding yours, rubbing slow, lazy circles against your skin. He wasn’t in a rush to make you talk. He never was. He just let you be, let you sit with whatever you were feeling without demanding anything in return.

And maybe that was why, when you finally found your voice, it came out so raw.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

His grip on your hand tightened. “Do what, baby?”

You swallowed, staring out the window. “Keep trying. Keep pretending like she’s gonna change.”

He let out a slow breath, like he’d been waiting for you to say it, but didn’t want to push you to. “You don’t have to.”

Tears burned at the back of your eyes. You didn’t know why this felt like grief, why it made your chest ache even though you knew it was the right thing.

“But she’s my mom,” you whispered, more to yourself than anything. “And she—”

“She don’t act like it,” Marshall cut in gently. “She don’t treat you the way a mom should.”

You exhaled shakily, your voice barely audible. “Then why do I feel so guilty?”

He sighed, his thumb brushing against the inside of your wrist. “’Cause she raised you to.”

Your breath hitched.

That was it. That was the truth you had been running from, the truth you had spent years trying to shove down.

She raised you to believe that loving her meant sacrificing yourself. That putting up with her cruelty was just the price of being her daughter.

Marshall saw the realization settle in your face, and his heart clenched. He wanted to take it from you, wanted to undo the years of hurt, but all he could do was what he had always done—be there.

“I don’t know how to stop,” you admitted, voice small. “I don’t know how to let it go.”

He pulled into the driveway, put the car in park, then turned to you fully, giving you his complete attention. “You ain’t gotta figure it out all at once. You just take it one step at a time.”

Your eyes met his, uncertain but searching. “What if she never changes? What if she never stops?”

His jaw ticked, and you knew the thought made him angry—angry for you, angry that someone who was supposed to love you unconditionally had done nothing but tear you down.

But when he spoke, his voice was steady. Sure.

“Then we stop lettin’ her hurt you.”

You blinked. “We?”

He reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah. We. You ain’t in this alone, baby.”

And just like that, the weight on your chest lightened, if only a little.

Because for the first time in your life, it didn’t feel like you had to hold it all on your own.

---

You didn’t cut your mother off overnight.

It wasn’t that easy. The guilt still crept in, still whispered in the back of your mind every time you ignored her calls or chose not to respond to her passive-aggressive texts.

But every time you started to doubt yourself, every time you hesitated—Marshall was there.

Sometimes, he just held your hand. Sometimes, he gently reminded you why you were doing this. And sometimes, when you were feeling particularly weak, he’d just wrap his arms around you and say, “You deserve better.”

And slowly, you started to believe him.

The real turning point came a few weeks later.

Your mother had called—again. You had ignored it—again. And instead of spiraling into guilt, you just leaned back against the couch, curled up against Marshall’s side, and let out a breath.

“That felt… good,” you admitted.

He smirked, kissing the top of your head. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Then, quieter—“Thank you for standing up for me.”

His arm tightened around you, his voice low but firm. “Always.”

And you knew, with absolute certainty, that he meant it.

That no matter what happened, no matter how hard it got—

You wouldn’t have to face it alone.

#eminem #eminem x reader #marshall mathers #marshall mathers x reader

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nanasrkives · 1 day ago

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Navigation : midnight records! the starlight EP! haikyuu EP!

── .✦ "ALMOST, ALWAYS" ─ Suna Rintaro

Finally posting about my husband Sunarin content : fluff. soft angst. second chance. 3461 words.

The flickering neon lights of a convenience store sign buzz faintly in the cool night air, casting a dull glow over the mostly empty street.

The city feels quieter than you remember, or maybe it’s just you—older now, carrying the weight of years that slipped by too fast. You didn’t mean to end up here. You were just passing through town, visiting family, but your feet wandered on their own, drawn to familiar streets and forgotten corners. The nostalgia is almost suffocating, the kind that makes your chest ache in ways you thought you’d outgrown.

The bell above the door jingles as you step inside. The harsh fluorescent lights make everything feel too bright, too sharp. You drift toward the snack aisle without thinking, fingers trailing over shelves until they land on a familiar bag of chips. A small, wry smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

Old habits.

But then—

“That’s still your go-to, huh?” You freeze. That voice.

Turning slowly, your heart stutters in a way that feels painfully familiar. There he stands—Suna Rintaro. Taller than you remember, sharp features softened only slightly by time. His hair’s a little messier, his expression the same unreadable calm, but his eyes—they’re exactly as you remember. A muted green that used to catch the light during lazy afternoons in the gym, the same ones you never quite managed to look at for too long without feeling your chest tighten.

“Rintaro,” you breathe before you can stop yourself, his name slipping out like muscle memory. He smirks, a small tilt of his lips. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

Neither did you.

Third year of high school,

Your phone buzzes with another message from Atsumu: "Hurry up, practice is starting!"

You roll your eyes, quickening your pace toward the gym. The gym is loud—sneakers squeaking against polished floors, the sharp slap of volleyballs, Atsumu’s voice carrying above the rest like it always does. You’re sitting on the bleachers, pretending to focus on your notes, but your eyes keep drifting.

To him.

Suna Rintarou leans against the wall, one arm resting lazily on his knee, his hair slightly damp with sweat. He’s not even trying, and he still looks—cool. Effortlessly cool in that way that makes your chest ache.

You tell yourself it’s just a crush. Harmless. Temporary.

But when his eyes flick up and meet yours across the gym, your heart betrays you. “Hey,” he says casually after practice, slinging his bag over his shoulder. You swallow down the words sitting on the tip of your tongue. I like you. Instead, you smile and say, “Hey.”

You wonder if he can hear the way your heart races.

You manage to find your voice before the silence stretches too long.

“Didn’t expect to see you here either,” you say, trying to sound casual, like your heart isn’t beating in your throat. You hold up the bag of chips as if it explains something. “Old habits, I guess.”

Rintarou steps closer, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, the same nonchalant posture he carried back in high school. But there’s something different now—a faint undercurrent of maturity, of time passed. He nods toward the snack. “You used to get those before every exam. Said it was your ‘good luck charm.’’ You blink, surprised he remembers. “Didn’t think you’d still remember that,” you murmur.

Rintarou shrugs, but his eyes linger on you a second longer than necessary. “Guess some things stick.” The conversation feels like walking a tightrope—balanced between what’s being said and everything that isn’t.

“So… what are you doing here?” you ask, needing to fill the space between you. “Came back for a visit,” he says simply. “Thought I’d check out the old places.” You nod, unsure of what to say next. The years have made him harder to read—or maybe you’ve just forgotten how.

Rintarou tilts his head slightly, his gaze steady. “You busy right now?” Your breath catches for a fraction of a second. “Not really.” “Wanna take a walk?”

It’s simple. Casual. But your chest feels anything but.

“Sure,” you reply, slipping the bag of chips into your basket like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The sun is low, casting long shadows over the empty gym.

Practice ended an hour ago, but you’d stayed behind under the pretense of finishing some notes for class. In reality, you were just waiting. Rintarou’s still there, lying flat on the floor with one arm thrown over his eyes, earbuds dangling loosely from his phone.

You gather your courage like fragile glass, standing and walking over to him. Your heart hammers with every step. “Hey,” you say softly. He peeks up at you, lazy green eyes meeting yours. “What’s up?” You sit down beside him, cross-legged, pretending to pick at the floor. “Nothing. Just… didn’t feel like going home yet.” He hums in agreement, eyes drifting back to the ceiling.

The words are right there. I like you. They’re so close you can almost taste them. But instead, you say, “Do you ever wonder what we’ll be like after high school?” Rintarou turns his head slightly, considering. “Dunno. Guess I’ll figure it out when I get there.” You laugh softly, a little breathless. “You’re so chill about everything.” His lips twitch in a faint smirk. “Not everything.”

Your heart skips.

You almost ask what do you mean? You almost tell him how you feel.

But the moment passes, slipping through your fingers like sand.

The night air is crisp as you walk side by side, the city humming softly around you.

There’s a comfortable quiet between you, but underneath it, a tension you both pretend not to notice. Rintarou breaks the silence first.

“Funny how nothing’s really changed,” he says. “This street, that convenience store… even you.” You glance at him. “I’ve changed.” He looks at you then, really looks, and it feels like standing under a spotlight. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “But not the important parts.”

Your heart stumbles.

You stop walking, turning to face him fully. The words rise in your throat, unsteady but undeniable. “Back in high school,” you start, your voice softer now, “there was something I never said.” Rintarou doesn’t look surprised. If anything, he looks like he’s been waiting for this. “Me too,” he replies simply.

You exhale a shaky laugh. “I liked you.” His mouth curves into a slow, familiar smirk, but his eyes—those steady, sharp eyes—soften in a way that makes your chest ache. “I liked you too,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

But maybe it always was. You’d just never said it.

Until now.

You sit on a park bench now, the city lights flickering in the distance.

The night stretches on, soft and quiet. The warmth between you and Rintarou grows in the small spaces—in the brush of shoulders, the lingering glances, the unspoken words finally said.

You turn to him, your face lit faintly by the streetlight. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. There's no need.

Then, slowly, like the universe has been waiting for this moment, he leans in. His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining as if they’ve always belonged there. His lips meet yours, soft and sure, carrying the weight of years lost and the promise of something new.

When you pull away, breathless, he smiles—not a smirk, not a tease, but something genuine, something just for you. “Took us long enough,” he murmurs, his forehead resting against yours. You laugh softly, your heart finally at ease. “Yeah. But we figured it out eventually.”

And this time, you did.

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

Taglist (OPEN). / @cherrysurf

#haikyuu #suna rintarou #inarizaki #suna x reader #suna rintarō #hq x reader #nanasrkives

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dragonanon · 2 months ago

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Just finished watching episode 4 of TADC. As someone with ADHD, chronic depression, and possibly mild Autism, I’ve never felt so seen yet personally attacked at the same time 🥲🫠

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #the fact that the whole episode is basically a euphemism for anti depressants and masking is fucking sending me #like i knew that gangle having the masks was supposed to LITERALLY symbolize masking #but her getting a new mask and having it ‘slip’ every now and then just really drives it home #it does SUCH a good job of showing how emotionally exhausting it is to constantly be masking and pretending everything is fine #and how GOOD it feels when you can FINALLY stop pretending that things are good and you’re normal #literally the entire time i was like ‘Damn they fucking nailed that feeling! but also fuck you i didn’t need to be called out like this!’#legit wasn’t expecting to come out of this episode with the knowledge that gangle is literally the most relatable character to me #but here we are anyway #tadc gangle #manager gangle #gangle

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tonycries · 10 months ago

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Dirty Lil’ Secrets!

Synopsis. They all have their habits in bed - some so filthy you can’t help but keep them your dirty little secret.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, size differences, bréeding, mating press, oral (female receiving), vibrators, manhandling, marking, jealousy (Choso’s side), praise, degradation, exhibitionism, fíngering, semi-public, cúmplay, some HEINOUS things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.8k

A/N. This came to me while watching Pink Panther, I think I should watch Pink Panther more often.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Take it or he makes you

Now, Toji knows he’s got a big dick - huge, even. And to him it doesn’t make a difference - either you take his fat cock like the good lil’ slut you are, or he shoves it in your snug cunt and watches you gasp so deliciously around him, eyes watering, swollen lips dropping into a pretty little oh!

“Ah- hngh daddy s’too big. I don’t think-”

“You will, pretty girl.” he chuckles darkly, leaning down till his breath is hot against your ear. “Because I’ll make it fit.”

Okay, maybe he lied - maybe it really does make a difference. Because right now, with you already so cockdrunk as he bullied his furiously leaking tip into your sloppy hole - Toji doesn’t think he’s ever been harder.

“Are- are you at least hngh- halfway in, daddy?” he hears you whimper. Cock twitching so animalistically inside you at the way your voice cracks so adorably at the end, tinged with desperation.

Toji can’t help but huff out a laugh, brows furrowed, greedy gaze stuck on the obscene way your pretty lips struggle to take him in. Pussy spread open so shamefully for him, quivering and leaking so sinfully onto the sheets below.

“Nope.” he hums, popping the p, reaching down to lick a long, languid stripe up the delicate tear streaming down your cheek.

God, he has to fight down some feral, animalistic part of him that wants to just plunge his throbbing cock into you till his heavy balls smack your ass. But no - not yet. What’s the fun if he can’t see you struggle a bit more?

Instead pushing in shallow, determined little thrusts to fit inside your tight pussy. Each one has his prominent veins pulsing angrily against your walls, hitting that one spot just right. A maddening bump! bump! bump! you were losing your mind to.

Stretching you to your limits. You could almost feel his achingly hard tip hitting your cervix already.

Full. So full - and he wasn’t even halfway in.

Feral grunts leave him at the way you moan breathlessly at each motion, scrambling to grab onto the headboard, the sheets, him - just anything to ground you to your sanity as you’re split apart on his achingly hard cock.

Ah, how he loved this little song and dance. A few tears, a few whines - his lil’ slut pretending like you couldn’t take it all - as if your walls aren’t sucking him in so obscenely, hips bucking up mindlessly for more. He loves your cute lil’ mewls when you can’t decide between wanting to run away or milk the soul out of him.

“Now now,” Toji tuts, looping two muscled arms around your waist so you can’t escape. Tight, grip almost bruising.

You let out a delirious squeal as he pulls you down down down - onto his thick cock. Plush walls taking him in greedily inch by fucking inch. Hungry for more.

He knew his pretty girl could do it - you always do.

“Don’t think you can run away from me, doll.” he groans over your pathetic little yelps of “Ah! Too- too big, daddy! Gonna break-”

“Then break f’me.”

And with that, Toji’s had enough of playing nice - ramming in the rest of his length in one, harsh thrust. Not stopping till he’s buried in your dripping cunt all the way to the hilt.

A low hiss leaves him as his abs rub your skin, twitching balls finally smacking against your ass. Finally taking all of him.

Finally bottoming out. Ah, this is what he’s wanted for s’long - teasing himself just as much as you.

“Oh! Oh my- ah, fuck. Want it- need it s’bad. Please- ngh-” you mewl, hips bucking wildly. Too cock-drunk on the way the tufts hair at his toned pelvis scratch against your throbbing clit to even form proper sentences. God, you think you could almost cum just from the feeling of being so overwhelmingly full of him.

“Feel me in you, pretty girl?” he rumbles, low and dangerous. “Feel me right…” he trails a long finger in between the valley of your breasts. Featherlight touch dancing down, down, down to your navel, pressing hard onto your stomach, “...there.”

You gasp at the pressure, breath catching in your throat at the dangerous smirk curling his lips as he begins to pull out inch by inch - agonizingly slow. Getting ready to fucking ruin you. Because boy does it stroke his ego to see you absolutely wrecked by his huge cock, struggling to just take him - but this is where the real fun starts.

♡ NANAMI KENTO - The family man

Nanami’s a very steady man - he always has been.

A steady job, a steady schedule, a steady relationship with you. So, really, it makes sense that he wants a kid, or two - or four with the ways he’s got you folded in half beneath him. Legs thrown over his sculpted shoulders, thighs burning at the stretch as he bends down down down-

A mating press. Nanami Kento had you in a fucking mating press.

And it was very dangerously quickly becoming his favorite thing.

You weren’t sure what to expect with that off-hand comment about wanting kids, but it surely wasn’t for your loving husband to fucking rip your skirt off and bend you over the nearest flat surface, throbbing cock now buried in your dripping pussy.

That was a few days ago.

And now every night without fail, you have Nanami’s seed dripping down your legs, still-achingly hard erection buried in your poor cunt - you doubt you’ll make it out alive this time.

“K-Kento- Hah- hngh, I feel s’full- so-”

“Shhh, darling. One more. Jus’ one more, all you gotta do is take every drop.” he hums, lips ghosting over your racing pulse. Brows furrowed, sweat trickling down his temple, cock ramming into you at such a filthy pace.

Warm - so warm with his seed. It jolted some carnal part of him - all the way down to his achingly hard cock - to know that he was the one doing this to you. That was his cum filling your pretty pussy. And everyone else would know.

God, you can do nothing but sit there and take it as Nanami edges you closer and closer to your nth orgasm tonight. Thumb drawing rough, frenzied little circles on your throbbing clit that match the merciless pace of his hips.

Over and over. A quick, maddening tempo he was losing his mind to.

Desperate, so desperate to get you off.

“Gonna fill you up.” he whispers, voice raw and dripping with need, mind hazy. “Gonna be so round and pretty with my kid, right, darling?”

You nod eagerly, as he increases his pace impossibly. Your skin stinging where his balls smack your ass, fucked-out little ah! ah! ah! leaving your kiss-bitten lips each time his hips hit yours.

Drool drips delicately down the corner of your mouth at how animalistically he was fucking you. None of that familiar tenderness - only the pure, filthy desire to breed your pretty lil’ cunt full. All his.

“You can dress ‘em up, and I’ll take ‘em to school.” he rambles, as half-delirious as you at this point. Drunk off of you and your cunt and you. “And when we’re all alone…” he trails off dangerously. Ripping his gaze from the creamy, white ring forming around his base to look in your eyes, “I’ll fuck another one into you.”

“Ah! Yes yes yes, please. Cum in me baby, fill me up.”

You see white as you cum - or maybe that was Nanami painting your plushy walls with his seed, you can’t even tell at this point, too exhausted and cock-drunk. All you can feel is Nanami twitching inside you before he’s shooting thick hot spurts of his cum. Again. And again.

“Oh- Kento, t’much. There’s so much.” you moan softly, words slurring together. Sloppy hole quivering at the feeling of being so deliciously overfilled as Nanami’s cum trickles out of you, forming a wet, sinful pool on the sheets below.

“Feel it inside you, darling?” he doesn’t stop thrusting - rough, mindless movements from some deep-rooted, primal little part of him. Stuffing you deeper and deeper with his cum. Fully intent on filling you up until he was shooting blanks - or until he physically couldn’t. Whichever comes last.

Fucked-out little yelps leave you with wreckless abandon, mixing with the creaking of the bed at Nanami starts up yet another unforgiving pace, “Yes- Ah! I feel it, Kento. Feel it s’deep inside me.” “Mhm?” he purrs, teeth grazing your earlobe. Darkened eyes glinting with something predatory as they greedily lock onto the way his cum gushes out of you. Seeping into your skin, smearing on his abs - and his rock-hard cock. “Then, better be ready for one more, darling.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - The sweet-talker

If someone saw the ever-graceful Geto Suguru right now, they wouldn’t believe their eyes - and definitely not their ears. Such beautiful words coming out of such a beautiful mouth, but his actions were anything but.

And it doesn’t even matter the place, he’ll come up right beside you and whisper a few seemingly harmless words. “I really love that skirt on you, angel. Is this the one I bought?” he’d say to you at the convenience store, smiling sweetly at the old woman in front of him that sighs about “young love.”

Little did anyone know that right at that moment, the innocent hand in his pocket fiddles with that little plastic remote. The one he bought specifically to make you lose your sanity.

Intensity setting 2.

“B-baby?” you whimper, breath hitching as you feel the bullet vibrator shoved inside your dripping cunt start to turn up a notch - tiny, methodical vibrations against your snug walls.

“Yes, my angel?”

You could almost smack the innocent grin off his devastatingly handsome face. Geto Suguru could win an Oscar for how good he was at acting like he didn’t have a firm grip on your vibrator control. Thumb running harsh, quick little circles on the intensity.

“Nothing.” you grit your teeth, nails digging into his sculpted arm as you hold onto him for support. The little bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzt maddening against your cunt. Praying that no one else here could see your dazed eyes and the way your thighs were quivering desperately. God, could this queue get any longer?

You almost miss the wrinkled hand waving in front of your face, the good-natured voice in front of you asking, “You alright, dearie? You look a bit under the weather.”

Intensity setting 3.

“I-I’m-” you choke, looking up at Geto for support. In perhaps a miraculous act of kindness, he peers down gently at the old lady. “Don’t worry, grandma. My love here has just been a bit sick today. M’taking her to the doctor after this, y’know. Isn’t that right, angel?”

Intensity setting 4.

Oh, not an act of kindness. Definitely not.

Panties completely soaked now, pussy clenching desperately around the vibrator. You shoot a quick glare at Geto, who was urging you deceivingly lovingly to answer. God, you could almost hear the laughter inside his mind as you take a steadying breath, stuttering out a barely audible, “Y-yeah. Sick today.”

You couldn’t care less if the sigh of relief you let out is audible to everyone else in the store as the elderly woman turns away with a nod. Mind focused only on Geto and Intensity setting 4 and Geto-

“Aww, what’s wrong, angel? Why do you look like you’re about to cry?” you hear that familiar faux concern from above you. “Which asshole do I need to beat up?”

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzt

Gritting your teeth in order to not snap or just outright demand that Geto makes you cum right here, right now. Instead, managing out an unsteady little, “Turn it down.”

“What was that, angel?”

“Turn it down, I swear to-”

You’re cut off by hot breath against your ear, Geto’s voice hoarse with desire as he mutters, “Then cum. Right here.”

And as if to prove his point, he deftly runs his fingers along the intensity control once more, rubbing maddening little circles along it. Edging your climax and your sanity like the sadistic bastard he was.

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzt

And you could tell by the faint smirk curling his lips that he was taunting you - torturing you to just break or break him. Whichever comes first.

Thighs trembling, knees weak, you shiver as you finally reach the counter, Geto’s thumb now firmly set on Intensity setting 4 as he speaks casually with the cashier. How dare he talk about the weather when you were reaching a breaking point here?

Tears prick at your eyes - both at the pure overstimulation and the frustration of not being able to fucking cum. No matter how much you wanted to.

“Angel, you don’t look too well. Want to sit down?”

You clench your jaw, trying to maintain some level of composure as Geto pays for your items. Every second feels like an eternity, every nerve ending screaming for release.

You muster a weak nod even as you can feel your thighs quivering, blood roaring in your ears - you refuse to let him win. At least this time.

“C’mon now, let’s get you home and rested.” By the time Geto steers you to the exit, you’re practically begging for relief. His arm hot around your waist, your vision blurring at the edges. You’ve only made one step outside when-

Intensity setting 5.

You cum with a strangled yelp. Nails digging into Geto’s forearm hard - part in surprise and part revenge for all of that. His strong arm being the only thing grounding you - and the only thing keeping you from collapsing to the fucking ground.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise, and for a brief moment, all you can do is breathe, your eyes fluttering closed as your body shudders at the shockwaves of electricity. God, you almost think you see the pearly gates of heaven at the sheer intensity of your pleasure.

When you crack open your eyes again, you find Geto staring at you. Ah, an angel.

“Well, you should be thankful I went easy on you this time.”

Nevermind, it’s the devil incarnate. Geto leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Hope you’re not feeling too ‘under the weather’, angel. Because I’ve got a plan in mind and we’re going to be doing something much more fun than going to the doctor."

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Marked up and all his

Choso knew you were hot - it only bothered him that everyone else did too.

Which is probably why you’ll often find him all but dragging you into the nearest bathroom at whatever party. Barely even locking the door before he’s got you pressed against the cold counter, leaking tip dragging teasingly along your swollen folds.

“Choso, baby~” you whine softly from where his furiously flushed head was kissing your dripping cunt, barely audible over the loud thumping of the music from the other side of the door. “More, deeper.”

And, well, whatever his sweetheart wants - she will get. Because he immediately presses in, plunging inch by fucking inch into your sloppy heaven. Veins dragging so maddeningly across your walls as he bullies his throbbing cock into your snug cunt.

“This what you want? To be split apart on my cock, sweetheart?” He groans into the crook of your neck, your sweet moans going straight to his aching cock. Tongue flattening along the skin, licking long, languid stripes up your neck, he nibbles lightly - all part of his plan.

“Hah- Hngh, yes baby. Jus’ like that.” Enveloping himself in your warmth, thrusting in small, mindless little motions of his hips. Not even wanting to get himself off - just wanting, needing to feel your pretty pussy around his cock. To prove to himself that you were his.

But it wasn’t enough.

Mouth still relentlessly marking and biting your skin, Choso guides your legs to wrap around his toned waist - a signal to pull, to use him to your heart’s content.

“Fuck, Choso- Fucking me s’good.” Your legs tighten around him, pulling him impossibly closer. It’s all Choso ever wants.

One hand deftly snakes it’s way down to your throbbing clit, rolling his thumb along the sensitive bud in just the way he knows will make you squeal and buck your hips onto his cock for more more more-

And the other - ah, yes, he can’t forget why he’s here - neat fingernails digging deep into your skin. Leaving pretty crescents in their wake - just below where your tight lil’ party dress hiked up. To show all those losers on the dance floor who you belong to.

Dragging. Marking.

His mouth leaves their place from your neck to whisper against your lips, darkened eyes boring into yours, “You’re mine, y’know that?”

You can do nothing but nod breathlessly into the heady air, hips bucking wildly underneath him as he increases his pace. Keening deliriously at the bruising grip on your hips and the even harder one on your poor cunt.

“Mine. All mine.” he grits out, twitching balls smacking your ass, rock-hard cock dipping in and out in and out in and-

“Those losers can’t fuck you the way I do, sweetheart.”

And then you’re cumming. Jolts of electricity running down your spine - and your nails raking down Choso’s. Red-hot patterns in their wake - and that’s exactly what sends him over the edge. “Ah- Shit shit shit, yes mark me till m’bloody yes-”

And maybe you do, because his throbbing cock twitches deeply in your pussy. Thrusting once, twice before he pumps thick, hot ropes into your fluttering walls. Tight balls squeezing painfully as he cums with a loud groan of your name.

Two arms kneading your ass - wrapping bruisingly around your waist - touching any and every inch of skin he could reach. Leaving pretty little marks for days.

You can feel such a sinful, sticky mixture of his slick and your cum trailing down your legs as he fucks you both through your highs. Pooling at the cold counter, stomach now uncomfortably hot, vision blurry - yet you still manage to make out the satisfied grin on Choso’s face.

Pure pride shining in his eyes as he takes in your fucked-out state, marks blossoming along your skin as if you’d been thrown to the wolves.

Ah, success.

But he’s barely had time to bask in his victory till you murmur out a quick “Hold on.” Pulling him firmly by the collar of his t-shirt. Lips firmly slotting over the sensitive skin peaking out.

Choso’s breath hitches as you bite and tease the skin - a pathetic little imitation of the absolute wreck he’d havoced on your skin - not pulling away until you’re satisfied with the dark, red mark blossoming on his milky skin.

“There. Perfect.” you flash an almost-innocent grin at him. And despite all that transpired in this heady bathroom, this is what makes his knees weaken so desperately. Oh, how he loved being yours.

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - The show-off

If the King of Curses owns something nice and pretty, then you can bet he’s going to show it off to everyone and anyone that crosses him. It doesn’t matter if it’s human trash or some lowly curse he’s just about to kill, all of them have the same last sight - you.

You, sat so prettily on the hulking king’s lap. All doe-eyed and batting your lashes so innocently at him as he wielded chaos on his throne.

It made them almost want to save you from this monster, only to realize - if Sukuna was feeling particularly generous that day - that he was the last thing that you needed saving from.

Because if by some miracle, Sukuna was feeling generous - and decided that those scum that bow beneath him should see something pretty before they die - then they see you. Legs spread so shamefully on his lap, large arms the width of your head keeping them open for your guests.

Sukuna trails his rough fingers dangerously down your robe - one that does absolutely nothing to hide your curves or the heaving of your chest. Thin fabric tearing easily under his sharp fingernails, exposing such tantalizing flashes of skin as whoever’s watching gulps heavily in both fear and anticipation.

He doesn’t stop till your robe is all but hanging off you now, dripping cunt soaking the tattered fabric as you keen desperately into his touch.

“Shhh, my lil’ slut.” he murmurs, low and gravelly into your ear, hot breath sending jolts of electricity coursing through your veins. “Wouldn’t want to be rude in front of our guests, hm?”

Whoever’s bowing before you two don’t know what makes shivers run down their spine more - Sukuna’s dangerous words or the way you whine desperately. “But Sukuna~” grinding onto his very obvious erection as you do, “Wan’ you so badly, haven’t been filled by you today.”

Shit, scratch that. The scariest thing here was the deep chuckle that echoes across the throne room - the King of Curses laughing. Laughing.

They watch in horror - unable to rip their eyes away - as he snakes down two large fingers to your dripping cunt, spreading open your swollen folds. Absolutely delighting in the way you flutter around nothing - his lil’ slut, so desperate for him.

You buck readily into his hold as Sukuna bullies two large fingers into your snug cunt. Ready walls clenching down so sinfully at finally getting some of the friction you’d been aching for all day.

“Ohh, yes. Sukuna, finally. Wanted you in me s’bad.” you squeal as he curls his fingers deftly inside you, expertly grazing that familiar spot he knew would have you falling apart in a matter of a few seconds.

“So spoiled.” Sukuna hums, a sly grin curling his lips - and the scum bowing before him completely forgotten - as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of your sloppy hole. Thrusting in rough, jerky little movements that no matter how filthy and unrefined they seem - hold a dangerous, calculated intent as he hits that spot over and over.

The ones before you find their cocks hardening traitorously at your breathy whines and the lewd squelching sounds. Torn between training their eyes on the ground and greedily watching your thighs quiver on the monster’s lap, cunt dripping so obscenely onto his robe.

“Look at her.” a sharp order jolts them out of their reverie. Sukuna didn’t have to ask, he knew you were a heavenly vision in his little hell. Yet, he continues anyway, amusement spiking at the way they can do nothing but gape at what they can never have “Look. So desperate f’me. Should I make her cum?”

“Nooo, Sukuna don’ be mean~” you whine half-deliriously at the silence that follows. Voice strangled at the merciless pace Sukuna had on your cunt, rolling your swollen clit on his fingers, dipping in and out in and out in and-

Sukuna chuckles darkly in your ear, over the protests of the trash at his feet, “Seems like they don’t want you to cum.” He increases his pace ruthlessly, over and over. Hitting that spot with reckless abandon, delighting in the way you writhe and convulse on his lap. “But s’alright, I’ll be the one to make you cum. Your king, hm?”

And make you cum he does. Adding three fingers into your tight cunt now, thrusting in and out at a pace that has you bowing into his hulking body. Over and over. Hurried. Hasty. Almost torturous for those watching.

“Ah! Yes yes yes, Sukuna~ M’gonna-” you can barely finish the sentence before you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, broken moans of Sukuna’s name leaving your swollen lips. He doesn’t stop - not when your orgasm is mere tingles, your voice too raw to even let out fucked-out moans. Not even when you’re quivering and fidgeting on his laps. Not even when he leans down to mutter in your ear, voice husky with pure need, “Now, how should I kill these fuckers off?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Just a lil’ taste

The great Gojo Satoru loves all things sweet, and that includes you. Not just you, but your pretty lips, your sweet cunt, and the sweetest - something else he’d never admit to anyone but you - the taste of him in you.

And right now - bullying his throbbing cock into your snug cunt, his heavy balls smacking your ass over and over as he rams into you hard, fast - Gojo knows there’s something for him to look forward to.

The bed creaks in protest as he chases the heavenly feeling of your tight pussy around him, mixing with the filthy moans leaving your mouth.

He was probably going to get another noise complaint - good, let them nosy fuckers know how good he makes you feel.

“Ah! Hah- hngh, Toru filling me up s’good.” you mewl and buck your hips underneath him for more more more- wanting, needing the feeling of him stretching you so deliciously. His glistening veins dragging along that one spot so deliciously, pulsing against your tight walls at an urgent, incessant rhythm.

“Oh yeah?” he grunts. Cock pushing into you deeper and deeper, cervix kissing your tip so painfully good. “Like this? Like it when I fuck you like this? Can’t get enough of it, hm?”

Because of course, Gojo Satoru can’t stop running his mouth even when he’s fucking you relentlessly. Even when his thrusts grow frenzied, sloppy with desire. And especially not when you’re creaming on his achingly hard cock.

God, you’re so fucking perfect he can’t help but lose himself in the heat of the moment as well.

Body arching off the bed, you see stars behind your eyes as Gojo cums in thick, hot spurts inside your fluttering walls. “Shit, oh Toru, s’full inside me hah-”

You think you probably cum harder just at the sight before you.

Gojo’s head thrown back, blue eyes prettily rolling to the back of his head as he bites his lips in concentration - desperately trying to fight off that feral, animalistic part of himself that just wants to fuck his cum deeper and deeper inside your dripping cunt. Wrestling that urge to breed you full to the back of his mind.

No, because he’s got bigger things in mind.

Bigger things that include urgently dropping to his knees as soon as your breathless moans bate. He wrestles your hips on the mattress, grip bruising on your waist as he pulls your pretty cunt closer. All wet and painted white with his cum, dripping so obscenely onto the fresh sheets below.

Mouth dropping into a soft oh! at the sinful sight before him, Gojo doesn’t waste a second before surging forward.

Nose-deep in your pussy, he doesn’t stop till he’s nose-deep and breathing you in so obscenely. Tongue bullying its way in between your swollen folds, dipping into your sloppy entrance in and out in and out in and out-

He groans into your cunt as he tastes himself. Tastes you.

Sweet.

The absolutely filthy mixture of his cum and your slick sliding down his tongue as he laps up your juices with the desperation of a madman. God, it makes the blood rush straight to his dick at the way your mouth drops open in disbelief - he never does get used to it.

Messy. It was so fucking messy.

“Mmm, s’sweet on my tongue, baby.” he slurs, drunk off the absolutely intoxicating taste of your sin. “Fuck- Can’t get enough of it. Shit.”

You flinch as he swears into your throbbing cunt. Seeing flashes of white behind your eyes each time he flicks his tongue just right to graze over all your most sensitive spots. You could almost cry from the overstimulation - walls fluttering sensitively around his relentless tongue.

And you probably do really cry when Gojo moves up your dripping pussy, sucking on your swollen clit. Rolling his tongue over and over at the same maddening pace of the tears down your cheeks.

Absentmindedly, you wonder whether he’s done with his little feast - and moving on to torture you full time now.

Gojo huffs out a laugh into your cunt, popping off your abused clit with a lewd pop! Hands snaking down to grab his rock-hard base. Pulling in short, desperate little tugs to get himself ready for what was to come. “Yeah, m’done, baby.” he chuckles darkly. Shit, did you say that out loud?

But you have no time to wonder too long about that, instead stuck on that dangerous little glint in his eyes as he stands from his position nose-deep in your cunt. Swiping his tongue across his lips, savoring every last drop of you.

Dazed, your eyes drift from his slick-glossed mouth down, down, down to-

Oh.

“Don’t worry, baby. M’gonna be feasting again real soon.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

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ozzgin · 6 months ago

Note

Just read your arranged marriage kidnapped by a most post and the humor in the servants always thinking reader is in peril. The same going for monster hubby (He just thinks they're submissive and breedable)

Like none of them realize they are a moster fucker cause they hide it so well. Like just imagining reader be like "oh be gentle with me I'm a dainty maiden" and then giving him the night of his life is hilarious. Or them having dinner and the servants feel bad for them cause monster hubby is eating human meat but their just thinking about other things he can use his tongue on.

Or maybe someone comes to rescue them from the terrible monster finally. But they don't wanna leave and instead fight the knight off. The knight thinks they've been brainwashed or something. Meanwhile the servants think the knight just wasn't good enough to rescue them.

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, NSFW! [Part 1] | [More Monsters]

The servants are not blind by any means: they can tell, quite plainly, that their monstrous Lord has a soft spot for you. Not only that, but the beast nearly worships you! They've come up with many theories, the latest one involving witchcraft. Surely you must have some sort of magical trickery under your sleeve in order to subdue their Master. There's no other way around it. All previous humans have been devoured, or have died in a pitiful attempt to escape, terrified to the bone upon gazing at his blasphemous Majesty.

You can't blame them. It's probably better for everyone involved if you omit the fact that your source of witchcraft lies in your...genitals. Well, not just that, of course. Your husband had started to lose hope. His appreciation of humans never came to fruition before your arrival. He was expecting you to cower in fear, not throw yourself at him.

He wondered if you wanted something from him in return, but no one could possibly pretend so flawlessly: the way you clung to him unprompted. The way you hungrily took him in, tears welling in your eyes, refusing to let go until you could feel his load avalanching down your throat. The way you'd trap his hips with your legs, despite being weak and feverish, asking that he doesn't stop yet. If that wasn't proof enough, your whines and moans were loud and clear. To think he could have his own little human, one who isn't repulsed by his monstrous form. He would've been content with mere tolerance, yet someone who begged to be fucked by him? He's been delirious ever since.

He loves everything about you, naturally, but he can't deny the shameless addiction he's now developed towards your body. He'd pound you anywhere and anytime if he could. If he needs to leave for official matters, know that the return will burn in the back of his mind.

"An important date, Sir?" one traveling servant will ask, glancing at all the scribbles in the calendar.

"Indeed", he answers solemnly. It's the times when he can finally fuck you dumb.

While the servants worry about their devilish Master being put under leash, for the other fellow humans the opposite seems to be true. You recall your last "rescuing" attempt distinctly. During one of your evening walks, burly, foreign arms swept you off in an instant. Before you knew it, you were holding onto the armored shoulders of an unknown man, as he made his way out of the traditional garden.

"I'll get you out of here", he promised between heaving breaths.

You stared in confusion. What was he saving you from? A good dicking? No matter how much you explained that you do actually like your newly appointed husband, the hero wouldn't budge.

You ended up just walking back home when the man fell asleep.

"That was quite the long walk", your monster partner remarked, polishing his weapons.

"Oh no, I was kidnapped", you state casually. "Got us some fruits on the way back."

Would it have been better to lie about it? On one hand, you do feel terrible for whoever attempted to retrieve you from the claws of the tyrant. Your husband is very possessive, and you know he'll scorch the Earth until that treacherous pest is gutted and fed to the pigs.

On the other hand...he becomes particularly savage after such incidents. You won't be able to sit properly for the next few weeks, but it's worth it.

Tough luck, you tell yourself, lounging in bed with a satisfied smirk and torn apart hole.

#monster imagine #monster x reader #monster x human #monster smut #monster fucker #terato #teratophillia #monster boyfriend

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itneverendshere · 2 months ago

Text

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - EIGHT

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of pregnancy; abortion.

MASTERLIST

Topper prided himself in keeping out of people’s business.

He hadn’t noticed anything was off with you on his own, he wouldn’t have; he didn’t do the whole “emotional radar” thing.

But Rafe had practically cornered him, demanding he figure out what was going on with you.

You were his cousin, after all.

That didn’t stop the way his stomach twisted from thinking about lying to you, or how every part of him had always silently rooted for you and Rafe. He’d loved seeing you two together. You were a mess most days, for years, sure, but it was the kind of mess that made sense in a way, and Topper couldn’t help but admire it.

You were like fire and gasoline.

But that was before the break-up, before everything got fucked.

Now, you were just… distant. He never knew how to approach you without feeling like he was crossing a line, but the way you’d passed out on Rafe at the beach had him worrying in a way that was more personal than he wanted to admit.

He wasn’t a thinker, not really, he liked simple things: good waves, cold beer, and not getting roped into drama.

But there he was, standing outside your door with Korean fried chicken. He didn’t do feelings, and he didn’t do heavy conversations. Rafe owed him big for this. The conversation had been good, even when you started talking about Sarah and Ruthie.

Topper was all in—laughing along, throwing in a dumb joke here and there, the usual. It felt nice, like when you were kids, sneaking your dad’s beers and pretending you weren’t gonna get caught.

But then he had to go and ruin it by asking if you were okay.

You went all stiff, then weirdly far away, laughing it off like he’d just asked you to explain calculus or something. You mumbled something about being fine and then bolted to the bathroom before he could even follow up with his usual Topper-brand wisdom.

He sat there, feeling uncomfortable, which wasn’t a thing he usually did. You were acting off, and it was messing with him more than he wanted to admit.

Finally, he decided he needed to move, so he got up to grab some water. Except, as he walked past the counter, his hip caught a pile of your mail, and an envelope went sliding to the floor.

“Crap,” he muttered, crouching to grab it. It was just some random envelope, but there was a phone number written on the front in messy blue ink.

Topper didn’t think about it—because thinking wasn’t really his strong suit—he just whipped out his phone and typed it in. Curiosity, man. It got him every time.

He hit call. He wasn’t trying to snoop or anything. It was just one of those things you do on autopilot, right? Call a number just to see who answers? Except this time, someone did answer.

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Then:

“Women’s Health Center, how can I help you?”

His brain short-circuited, full-on panic mode. He stared at the phone like it had grown a second screen, then frantically hit the hang-up button just as the bathroom door creaked open.

You were back.

Topper, sweating for no reason, slapped the envelope back on the counter like it was about to explode and turned to you with a smile that definitely didn’t match his pounding heart.

He got out of there as soon as possible, as he drove to meet Rafe, the whole thing was still playing on a loop in his head. That phone number, the voice on the other end of the line, the way you’d acted when he’d asked if you were okay—he couldn’t stop trying to force the pieces into place.

Something was going on, he wasn't sure what, and he wasn’t exactly the guy you went to for deep insights, but he felt something was up.

When he pulled into Tanyhill, he spotted Rafe leaning against his truck, scrolling through his phone with that permanent scowl he seemed to have these days. He barely had the car in park before Rafe was pushing off the truck and heading his way.

He climbed out, doing his best to act normal—which, for him, meant cracking the same goofy grin he always did. His mind was still spinning with a dozen half-formed thoughts about that phone call, that clinic, and how the the fuck he might fit into all of it.

The only thing he knew for sure was that Rafe knowing could be catastrophic. Like, meteor-hits-earth catastrophic.

“You gotta chill,” Topper said, slamming his car door shut and giving Rafe a once-over. “Why do you look like you’re about to punch somebody?”

Rafe just glared, shoving his phone in his pocket. “What’d you find out?”

He blinked, thrown by how fast he cut to the point. “Nice to see you, too. Second, what makes you think I found out anything?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Top. Did you figure it out or not?”

“Yeah, I figured it out,” Topper shot back, crossing his arms. “But why the hell did you make me go through all this work if you already know what’s going on?”

Rafe shrugged, leaning back against the truck like this was all just some casual conversation. “Didn’t think you’d actually get it, to be honest.”

“Bro, I’m not that stupid. How did you get to the bottom of this shit? I’m still confused as fuck over here.”

Rafe’s mouth twitched like he was deciding whether to smirk or yell, hesettled on neither. “She passed out on me, remember?”

“So?” Topper shot back, frowning. “I’ve seen you pass out for, like, way less.”

“It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t a hangover or heat stroke, it was different. And she’s been weird lately, avoiding everyone.” Rafe leaned back against his truck, arms crossed, talking fast. “The hospital did blood work.”

Topper, who’d been zoning out halfway through his little doctor act, suddenly perked up.

“Wow,” he mused, dragging the word out. “Okay. So, how’d you take the news? I mean, shit, you look pretty calm for once. Didn’t think that was in your wheelhouse."

Rafe frowned, his sharp blue eyes narrowing, the crease between his brows deepening like it always did when he thought someone was wasting his time.

"The fuck are you talking about?”

Topper shrugged like this was totally normal. “I just expected you to, like…freak out or somethin'. Throw a punch, maybe.”

“Throw a punch about what?” Rafe snapped.

“About—” Topper paused, squinting at Rafe like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “Wait. What are you supposed to do?”

Rafe’s hand twitched toward his jaw, fingers brushing over the stubble there, a telltale sign that he was gearing up to lose patience. He didn’t wait for Topper to answer before shaking his head, the movement quick and irritated.

“Don’t do that, man,” he added, pointing a finger “I’ll help her figure it out. What else can I do?”

Topper tilted his head, genuinely impressed. “Damn. You really matured, huh? I mean, good for you.”

“Top, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Rafe demanded, his tone sharp now like he was finally catching on to the fact that they weren’t on the same page.

Topper blinked, “I’m just saying you’re handling it better than I thought. Especially since she’s not—uh, showing yet.”

“Not showing what?”

“…The bump?”

He immediately realized he’d said the wrong thing, or maybe the right thing, but in the wrong tone, with the wrong level of context, and—okay, maybe he should just stop talking.

Abort mission, abort mission. Topper immediately wanted to crawl into a hole. Dude, shut up, shut up, shut up.

“What the fuck?” Rafe’s voice cracked; his eyes blazing as he stepped closer. “What bump?!”

His laugh fizzled out under Rafe’s glare, it was starting to feel less like “concerned ex-boyfriend” and more like “interrogating cop.” He felt a bead of sweat slide down the back of his neck.

Cool. Stay cool.

“Wait,” Topper held his hands up, trying to physically stop the situation from spiraling. “What do you think is wrong with her?”

His brain was spinning in a way it wasn’t built for. He was a simple guy—he liked clear problems and easy fixes. But this? This was a category-five disaster, and he was stuck right in the middle of it.

Rafe let out a sharp breath through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair, the small strands sticking up in every direction.

“I think she’s got a fucking infection! Why the hell would I think she’s pregnant?”

Topper hesitated, glancing toward the house like maybe Sarah or Wheezie might miraculously appear to save him. No such luck.

“Well fucking shit,” Topper blurted, the words tumbling out in a rush. His heart was pounding, and he was pretty sure he’d just signed his death warrant. “I—I didn’t say she’s pregnant, okay? I found this number, and it was for a women’s health center, and—fuck, man, I’m dead. I’m so dead.”

Rafe grabbed him by the collar, yanking him close. “Start talking. Now.”

“I wasn’t snooping, okay? It just—happened. I wasn’t trying to get in her business, but—”

“But what?” Rafe barked. His other hand twitched at his side, curling into a fist before flexing out again, a warning of how close Topper was to eating pavement, but Rafe wasn’t the one he feared right now.

You were going to kill him.

He could already picture the look on your face when you found out—those cold, furious eyes, the way your voice would drop, he was officially dead meat. He gulped, his mouth dry as his brain scrambled for something—anything—that wouldn’t get him killed or disowned.

“You better explain what the fuck you mean by ‘happened,’” Rafe growled, his grip tightening, giving Topper’s collar a shake, just enough to make his point clear.

Topper was done, leaving nothing but pure panic and the faint, distant sound of his voice saying things he definitely shouldn’t.

“I called the number!” Topper yelped. “I didn’t even mean to, it was—dude, she’s gonna kill me, and I mean that literally. She will.”

“Not if I kill you first,” Rafe shoved him back, his grip finally loosening, his face unreadable now, which was somehow worse than when he’d looked ready to punch him. “You’re telling me you think she’s pregnant? And you didn’t remember to tell me sooner?”

“I didn’t!” Topper said quickly, panic bubbling over. “It’s not like she’s gonna tell me this kind of stuff.”

“Did she say anything to you? Anything about seeing a doctor or being sick?”

Topper shook his head so fast it made him dizzy. “I asked if she was okay, but she just brushed it off and changed the subject.”

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, both of them staring each other down.

“No, no way. She’s probably… I don’t fucking know, changing her pill or something.”

Topper raised an eyebrow. “Changing her pill?”

“Yeah,” Rafe said quickly, “Or—what else do they do there? Those check-up things. Maybe she’s getting one of those.”

“Uh-huh,” Topper replied, not convinced but also not dumb enough to call him out on it outright. “Sure. Just a… routine check-up?”

“Exactly,” Rafe agreed a little too loud, his tone almost defensive as he started circling again, his hands gesturing wildly. “They don’t just deal with… y'know. They do all kinds of shit. Tests, prescriptions, all that stuff. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Topper scratched the back of his neck, his expression caught between agreement and unease. “I mean, yeah, they do other stuff… but don’t you think—”

“I don’t think anything, there’s nothing to think about. She’s fine. She’s—she’s fine.” He stopped pacing, standing rigid with his hands on his hips, glaring at the ground like it had personally offended him.

“Okay,” Topper started, his tone cautious. “I get that you don’t want to jump to conclusions, but—”

“I’m not jumping to conclusions!” Rafe barked, spinning around “You’re the one making it into something it’s not! She’s not—she wouldn’t—she hasn’t told me anything,” He muttered finally, “And if she’s hiding this… from me…”

He’d never seen Rafe like this—angry, yeah, but there was something else there, either way, it wasn’t good. His glare burned into him, but for the first time, there was hesitation behind it. He wasn’t just mad—he was scared. Topper couldn’t decide if that made him feel better or worse.

“Holy shit,” Rafe muttered, gripping the side of his truck for balance. His vision going fuzzy as his heart raced like he’d just sprinted a mile. “Holy shit, what if—what if she is?”

“Dude, breathe,” Topper said, stepping closer cautiously like Rafe was a live grenade. “You don’t even—”

“Even if—if—she was, how the hell would that even—” He cut himself off, his face twisting like he couldn’t decide whether to finish the thought or abandon it entirely.

Topper didn’t need him to finish, he understood exactly what Rafe was thinking. The timeline, the breakup, the way everything had gone down between you.

Rafe’s breath hitched as he let go of the truck and paced a few steps, his hands on his hips, muttering under his breath. “No. No way. It’s not—she’d tell me, right? She’d fucking tell me.”

Images started flashing through his mind in rapid succession, each one more ridiculous and unhinged than the last. You, standing in some clinic, staring at a test with a blank expression. You, trying to figure out how to tell Rafe.

You, holding a baby—Rafe’s baby—in your arms.

“This doesn’t make any sense. We were careful. She’s just stressed, girls go through shit. Hormones or whatever. Right?”

“You’re asking me? I barely passed bio. I’m not exactly a walking textbook on—” He stopped himself, seeing the look on Rafe’s face. “I don’t know what’s going on with her, okay? But if this is what I think it is, you gotta handle it right. Don’t screw it up more than it already is.”

“And if I don’t handle it right?”

Topper forced a shaky grin, even as his stomach twisted in knots.

“Then I guess I’ll see you in hell, man. Because she’s gonna kill us both.”

Rafe’s hands went to his hips, his thumb brushing the edge of his pocket as he stared past Topper, he was trying to work out an equation that wasn’t adding up.

“She hasn’t said a word to me,” Rafe muttered, “Not at the hospital, not since. And you think…” He trailed off, dragging a hand over his face.

Topper shifted on his feet, resisting the urge to bolt to the other side of the world.

“I guess, but I swear, it wasn’t on purpose.”

Rafe shot him a look, his brows knitting together, and Topper felt like he was under a microscope. “You called a random number. How does that ‘just happen’?”

He huffed, throwing his hands up. “I was grabbing some water, and her mail fell, and there was this number—I didn’t think! I just… acted.” He groaned, his head falling back as he stared at the sky. “I didn’t mean to put two and two together, but what was I supposed to do? You’re the one who made me go digging in the first place!”

“You really think that’s what’s going on?” Rafe asked finally, his voice quieter.

“You said she’s acting weird, and then there was that number, and…” He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck.

“Do you even understand what this means? If she’s—if there’s a—” He broke off, “I’d have to—Jesus Christ, what would I even do? I’m not—God.”

His hands gripped the edge of the truck bed so hard his knuckles turned white, the veins in his arms standing out as he glared at the ground like it had personally offended him.

“If she didn’t tell me—” His voice was low, quiet in a way that made Topper wince because he knew what came next.

“Maybe just... ask her?”

“Ask her?” he repeated, his voice disbelieving.

“Yeah, you know,” Topper said, gesturing vaguely. “Talk to her? Maybe find out what’s going on instead of losing your shit over worst-case scenarios?”

Rafe shook his head, “No. If she wanted me to know, she’d tell me. She’s... she’s dealing with her own stuff. It’s not my place to push.”

“Since when do you not push?”

“Since now,” Rafe snapped, though even he didn’t sound convinced.

“Rafe—”

“No, seriously,” Rafe interrupted, his voice rising now, the tight restraint unraveling with every word. “If she’s—if she’s going through this, if she’s pregnant, and she didn’t tell me?” He let out a bitter chuckle, “What the fuck does that say? About me.”

Topper opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it again. This felt like a minefield, and if anyone was good at stepping on the wrong spot, it was him.

Rafe pushed off the truck, he couldn’t physically stay still. His eyes were burning as he raked a hand through his buzzed hair.

“I was—fuck. She thinks what? That I wouldn’t show up for this. She didn’t tell me because she doesn’t think I deserve to know.”

“That’s not true,” Topper said quickly, stepping closer, but Rafe’s empty laugh stopped him.

“Isn’t it?” Rafe’s voice was hollow now, all the fire drained out of him, turning his head slightly, just enough for Topper to see his throat working as he swallowed hard. “What the hell have I ever done to make her think I’d be there? That I’d—” He broke off. “Shit. I wouldn’t blame her. I can't even fucking blame her.”

“You still care about her, right?” Topper pressed, knowing he didn’t have to ask to know the answer.

Rafe’s head snapped up, “She’s the only thing I’ve ever cared about.”

He nodded slowly, “Then prove it.”

The envelope sat exactly where you’d left it, the faintest corner of folded. You froze for a second, your pulse quickening.

No. No way.

It was fine. Fine.

The number wasn’t even labeled—just digits scrawled hastily, you hadn’t touched it in days. Still, you couldn’t stop the tiny seed of panic attaching itself to your chest. There was absolutely no way Topper could’ve seen it, let alone put two and two together.

You exhaled slowly, placing it back on the counter.

He didn’t see it. He couldn’t have seen it.

Then why had he acted so… off? The pale face, the sudden excuse, the jittery energy—it was all so unlike him.

You shook your head, trying to push the thought away, a million things could’ve set him off.

Maybe Ruthie had texted him something awful, or maybe he’d remembered he had to pick up his dry cleaning before the shop closed. Knowing Topper, it was probably something stupid and unrelated to you entirely.

Still, the nagging lingered as you cleaned up the counter and threw away the napkins. You glanced at the envelope one last time, then slid it into a drawer and shut it firmly. Whatever was going on with your cousin, it couldn’t have anything to do with that. It was impossible. And yet…

You sighed, rubbing your temples.

“Pregnancy brain,” you muttered to yourself. “Making me paranoid over nothing.”

Of course that didn’t stop your heart from jumping every time the drawer creaked, or when you saw anything even remotely similar to that envelope’s color lying around the house for the entire night. Not that he’d ask, of course—Topper wasn’t the confrontational type, especially not with you. But he noticed things. And when he noticed, he worried.

The next morning you sank onto the couch, hugging a pillow to your chest. Topper was close, but he wasn’t like Sarah. She had been able to look you in the eye and say, You know I’m here, right? and mean it without any strings attached. Topper, though…

Your fingers itched toward your phone, even though it was stupid to call her so early over this. Still, you needed someone to remind you that you weren’t losing it, that Topper’s weirdness had nothing to do with anything serious.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you found Sarah’s number, pressing the call button. She picked up on the second ring, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You could picture her, sitting in her car or probably stretched out somewhere in Poguelandia with her feet propped up on a table, looking concerned.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just…” You trailed off, fiddling with the edge of a pillow.

“Topper’s been acting strange. And I think I’m just overthinking it, but it’s making me crazy.”

She made a sound between a hum and a laugh. “So the Topper panic spiral. That’s what we’re dealing with?”

“Basically,” you muttered, trying to keep your tone light. “But this time… He was here last night, and I thought he saw this random piece of paper I had with, you know. A number on it.” You took a shaky breath, embarrassed for how paranoid you sounded. “But he couldn’t have, right? I mean, it was buried under five other things.”

“Okay,” Sarah said slowly, clearly choosing her words. “First, let’s just say that if he did see anything, which he probably didn’t, he wouldn’t assume the worst. He’s your cousin; he knows you don’t tell him everything, and he respects that. Right?”

“Yeah… I guess.” You chewed your lip, feeling a little stupid for even calling her. “But what if he does put it together, Sarah? I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

“He won’t,” she reassured, like she could see right through your anxiety. “And you don’t need to feel bad for wanting to keep this private. You’re allowed to handle it however you need to. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

You exhaled, the knot in your chest loosening a little. She always knew how to talk you down, "Okay,” you murmured, and a shaky laugh slipped out. “Maybe I'm being paranoid.”

“Pregnancy brain,” she teased, and you couldn’t help but smile.

You hung up feeling marginally better.

Sarah had a way of calming you down, but the uneasiness stayed with you, the way it always did when you couldn’t fully explain something.

But the relief was fleeting, by lunchtime, the nagging voice in your head was back. Topper wasn’t malicious, but he did have a habit of talking without thinking, and the last thing you needed was for this to get out before you were ready. Not only was this a huge scandal, but it was your business.

You busied yourself with small tasks—folding laundry, wiping down the counters, pretending that everything was fine. It wasn’t until almost noon that your phone rang. The hospital’s number flashed on the screen, and your stomach dropped.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Miss Thornton?” the voice on the other end asked politely, too polite for comfort.

“This is she."

“This is Linda from the hospital. I’m calling about your recent bloodwork. We had a bit of an issue with our system, and unfortunately, there was a delay in getting back to you. We also lost some patient information temporarily—”

“Wait, what?” you interrupted, not liking where this was going, “What do you mean you lost information?”

“Oh, nothing to worry about,” Linda said quickly, as if that would make you feel better. “We managed to recover most of it, but in the meantime, we had to rely on emergency contact information to reach out. Dr. Harris called yours last night.”

Your breath caught. “Called... my emergency contact?”

“Yes.”

“Sarah Cameron? She didn’t tell me someone called.”

“She’s not listed as your emergency contact in our system, Rafe Cameron is. It might be an older record?”

Fuck.

Your heart was in your throat. “What... what did he tell him?”

“He only left a generic message asking for you to follow up about your bloodwork. Nothing specific.”

“Nothing specific,” you repeated, more to yourself than to her. Relief and panic warred within you. If Rafe knew, he’d already be there, the night before, demanding answers. Right?

“We need you to come back in. It’s possible you may have an infection, and we need to run a few more tests.”

You didn’t even hear the rest of her explanation.

Your fingers felt numb as you mumbled something that vaguely resembled agreement and hung up.

Infection, that was what she’d said. That was all it was. Not… not anything else. If it were anything else, they wouldn’t have just called—they’d have told Rafe.

“Stop,” you muttered aloud, shaking your head. “Stop spiraling.”

But your brain wouldn’t listen.

“Generic message,” Linda had said, but did it sound generic? What did he think when he got it? Had he laughed it off, or was he running his stupid pristine bedroom, piecing together clues you hadn’t even realized you’d left?

You didn’t want to text Sarah again.

You could imagine her smirking, “I told you, he’s not going to magically grow psychic overnight.” Yeah, sure, but this was Rafe.

He didn’t need magic. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on Sarah’s voice in your head. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”

Except it didn’t feel like that. You hadn’t thought about Rafe as your emergency contact in months, hadn’t needed to.

You sank into the couch, hugging your knees to your chest.

“This is so stupid,” you muttered, but your voice didn’t make it feel any less real. You weren’t even sure what you were spiraling over anymore. The envelope? The hospital? The baby?

“Okay,” you said out loud. “Okay, it’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

The sound of your voice didn’t even convince you. Your brain wouldn’t stop jumping from one thing to the next, spinning every scenario you didn’t want to think about.

What if he did know? If that was enough to set him off, to make him call someone, pull some strings...Shit, what if he did show up, and you had to explain why you were dodging everyone and keeping things from him and—stop.

Stop.

You were doing it again. The spiraling. The pregnancy brain Sarah teased you about like it was some sort of cute quirk, but wasn’t cute.

You sat up straight, squeezing the couch pillow so hard you thought it might burst. Breathe. Just breathe, you’d made it this far without imploding.

You glanced toward the drawer again, the one with the envelope. You should’ve burned it, shredded it first. No, you had to keep it—just in case. But just in case of what? Just in case you needed more reasons to feel like a lunatic.

Oh my god. What if Topper saw the stupid number, and then Rafe got the hospital call, and then—bam—suddenly, they had the whole damn thing figured out?

You could feel it already—the panic. You liked to think they were both too stupid for their own good, but they were also observant. Rafe, that bastard always knew how to put things together faster than anyone.

What if—what if it’s that simple for them? What if they both saw it, and then they were just sitting there, having some stupid-ass conversation, connecting dots you didn’t even realize were dots?

No. Stop. Stop thinking like that.

You were getting carried away, jumping to conclusions like some manic soap opera character. You weren’t that girl. Not really. But the thought of them talking—Topper with his concern and Rafe with his overbearing intensity.

Your fingers tapped a frantic rhythm against the pillow. The idea of him figuring it out? Oh, that made your skin crawl. Not because he’d be cruel—no, that wasn’t his style. He’d just be so… himself.

Overwhelming, determined to “fix” things for you, even when you didn’t ask for it.

You groaned, dropping the pillow and standing abruptly, like the movement might kill the growing dread. No, you told yourself firmly.

You weren’t spiraling over things that hadn’t even happened yet.

But the voice in your head, the one that always sounded a little too much like Rafe, had other plans: What if it’s already too late?

You paced the living room, arms crossed tightly over your chest. This was ridiculous, you were ridiculous. Nothing had happened, nothing was going to happen. The number wasn’t even that suspicious, it could’ve been anything.

You groaned again, flopping onto the couch like the dramatic mess you were currently embodying. Rafe had probably gotten the hospital call, rolled his eyes without a second thought, too busy with his new precious life.

Your stomach churned, and you pressed your hands against it instinctively. It wasn’t showing yet—thank god—but you couldn’t help the way your mind spiraled back to it, to all the ways this could go wrong.

You grabbed your car keys without thinking, maybe it would clear your head. A drive—that’s what you needed. Get out of the house, and put some distance between you and the stupid envelope, the phone calls, all of it. You turned the knob, yanked the door open—

—and froze.

Rafe’s hand was raised mid-air, clearly about to knock. You didn’t even try to hide the way your breath hitched.

Oh, no. No, no, no.

Standing there on the porch like he hadn’t just derailed your entire plan. As if it was still perfectly normal for him to show up unannounced, one hand shoved into his pocket and the other gripping his phone, his head tilted in a maddeningly familiar way.

His hand hovered uncertainly on the doorframe as you stepped back, your arms folding protectively over your chest. He didn’t push past you, didn’t move his weight forward—just stood there.

He glanced down at the spare key still in his hand, turning it over like he was considering whether he even had the right to use it. “They called me last night.”

Okay, he was just here because of the hospital, a coincidence, that’s all it was.

“And? You could’ve ignored it.”

His hand flexed at his side like he didn’t know what to do with it. “I thought something might be wrong.”

“It’s not.” Your voice was clipped, cold. “They called the wrong number. End of story.”

He didn’t rise to the bait.

“I thought—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. “I thought you were sick.”

“Like I said, it was a mix-up.”

His jaw ticked. That tiny muscle in his cheek twitched, the one that always flared when he was suspicious.

“Funny, they didn’t sound mixed up when they said your name,” he drawled, his tone probing. “Wanna try again?”

“Mind your fucking business,” Your voice was defensive, and you hated the crackle of guilt in your chest when he flinched. “I don’t need you to pretend to care. Why are you even here?” you snapped, taking a step back. The space between you felt vulnerable. “Don’t you have someone else to worry about?"

You felt cornered with every second he stood there.

“We need to talk.”

Maybe if you acted calm, like nothing was wrong, he’d stop looking at you like that. Vulnerability wasn’t something you were good at, he’d already taken too much. He always took too much.

“I don’t owe you shit. Not explanations, not answers, nothing. Leave.”

He didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.

Rafe didn’t know how to let shit go, not when it came to you, he didn’t back away.

“You’re right,” he said, surprising you. “You don’t, but I’m not leaving until we talk.”

The way he said, it wasn’t even a threat. It was worse than that. It was calm, resolute, like he’d already decided, and nothing you said or did could change it.

That scared you more than anything.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you hissed, “Whatever you think you know, you don’t.”

He arched an eyebrow, his eyes flicking to the edge of the couch where your phone still sat, “You sure about that?”

“God, you’re always like this. Always overstepping, always assuming—”

“I know."

All the noise in your head—your spiraling thoughts, your excuses, your endless denials—went silent, except for the way your heart thudded in your chest, so fast, it hurt. He hadn’t raised his voice, but those two words hit you like a kick to your chest.

No, he couldn’t—he didn’t, he was bluffing, he had to be. Air caught in your throat, and for a moment, you thought you might choke on it. He didn’t move, didn’t repeat himself. He couldn’t know.

Your tongue went dry.

“What are you talking about?” You couldn’t breathe. It felt like someone was squeezing your chest. You shook your head again, more violently this time, stepping back, “You don’t know shit.”

“I think I do.” His voice was quiet, and that made it worse, it wasn’t cold or angry; it wasn’t even accusing. He didn’t sound like he wanted to be right, he just sounded tired.

You prayed to come up with something—anything—to deflect, to deny, to keep the truth buried where it belonged.

“You’re delusional,” you took another step back, putting more space between you and the man who had always known you too well.

He just shook his head, “You don’t have to lie to me, you’re scared, you’re not even trying to hide it.”

It was the way he stared with those stupid blue eyes, he was peeling back your layers. He always did that, made you feel like he could see something in you that you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

“Oh, fuck off.” You threw your hands up. “You don’t know shit about what I’m feeling. You’ve got no right to—I’m not lying.”

It still hurt how much you missed him, hurt to even look at him.

“Don’t pull this cryptic bullshit with me, if you’ve got something to say, say it.”

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

The thing you’d been running from, denying, hiding, you simply stared at him, trying to decide if there was any way to lie your way out of this.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You tried to laugh, but it came out strangled, desperate. “T-That’s insane. You’ve lost your mind.”

Rafe wasn’t gloating or triumphant—he just looked… resigned, he’d pieced it together before he showed up.

“Don’t do that. Don’t lie to me, not about this.”

You wanted to scream, to shove him, to do anything that would make him stop looking at you like he cared. Like he knew you. Because if you stopped long enough to think about it, you knew it was over.

He’d already seen it.

“I mean it, Rafe.” Your hand tightened on the door, nails digging into the wood. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

God, this was so fucked. You wanted him gone, but wanted him here, needed him to leave you alone, but at the same time, you hated that he could just leave.

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

You thought about what he’d do if he knew—really knew. Not just the vague sense he had now, but the details. Would he try to stop you?

Your lip quivered, and you hated yourself for it. “You’re wrong.”

You stared at him, at the way his shoulders hunched slightly, his usual confidence worn down. You hated him for being calm for once in his fucking life, for being here, for not letting this slide when it was none of his fucking business.

“Am I?”

Your hands clenched tighter, nails biting into your palms. “Why? Why do you even care? It’s not like you—”

“Because it’s mine.”

Your breath hitched again, and this time, you couldn’t hide it. You wanted to deny it, to throw something—hell, anything—back at him to make him shut the fuck up. But your throat felt like it had shut off entirely, and your mind had gone blank.

“I—” you stammered, shaking your head violently, “No. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re—”

“Hey, hey, just—just stop,” he said, his voice careful, as if he was trying not to spook you. “I’m not—Jesus, I’m not here to fight with you, okay? I’m not here to make this harder.”

Your chest heaved, a bitter laugh escaping before you could stop it. He was too late—late to care, late to help, late to fix anything. Five days, that’s all you had to get through.

Five days until you didn’t have to think about it anymore.

This is the right choice, you told yourself for the hundredth time. You couldn’t bring a baby into this mess.

“You’re doing a hell of a job at that.”

“I just want to help. If you let me—”

“No,” you interrupted, grabbing the edge of the door. “I’m fixing it.”

“Fixing—?” Rafe’s brow furrowed, his confusion almost comical He started to step forward, but you stopped him with a resentful glare that made him stop. “What does that even mean?”

“It means you can take your fake concern and shove it up your ass.”

His brow furrowed. “It’s not fake—” His face twisted in confusion, mouth opening like he was about to argue, but you didn’t give him the chance, slamming the door in his face, so hard the frame rattled.

“Of course. Of course, it’s mine,” you muttered to yourself, mocking his stupid, self-righteous tone.

You leaned back against the door, sliding to the floor, arms crossed over your knees as your brain whirred like it was trying to kill you.

It wasn’t like you had a choice.

Technically, you did, but what were you supposed to do? Keep it and become a tragic sob story? The words almost felt like you’d ripped them out of someone else’s mouth, right or wrong didn’t even matter anymore. There wasn’t space in your life for this—for him, for a baby, for any of it.

A muffled knock sounded from the front door—tentative, like he was giving you a moment.

“Go away,” you yelled, your voice hoarse.

“Open the door.”

Your thoughts taunted you with memories and possibilities you didn’t want to entertain. The way Rafe had looked at you—like he knew—it was unbearable.

How had he put it together? Maybe you'd slip up in tiny ways, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for him to follow. You hated yourself for being so careless, despised him even more for being so fucking relentless.

You wiped your cheeks roughly, not realizing you’d started crying until your sleeve came back damp.

“Please, just open the door. We can talk—just talk, okay?

“No,” you muttered to the empty room. “No, I’m not doing this.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, leaning your head back against the door and pressing your hands over your ears to block him out.

“Don’t shut me out like this,” he begged. “I can’t—fuck, I can’t stand it when you do this. Just open the door. Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking.”

He had a key. If he wanted to, he could let himself in at any moment, but he didn’t, that wasn’t the Rafe you were used to.

Before, he'd have barged right in, shouted until your ears bled, and demanded answers. He would’ve tried to fix it or destroy it, maybe both.

You hated that he still acted like he cared, that he was trying to be so fucking reasonable now, when just a few months ago, he would’ve lost it, broken through any barrier to get what he wanted.

This was worse, this Rafe was wearing you down.

Another hushed plea made it through the door, but all you could think was how thin the wood felt, how it barely drowned the sound of his voice. A new door might be better, something heavier, more solid, that could drown out everything—the desperation, the crack in his voice.

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, and you bit hard on the inside of your cheek to keep them from falling.

“I know you’re scared,” he continued, “And I know you think I’ll screw this up—God knows I probably will. But please don’t keep me in the dark. Just tell me what’s going on.”

You pictured flipping through hardware store catalogs, weighing your options: oak? steel? soundproofing foam?

“Please,” Rafe whispered, and the rawness in his voice scraped against you like nails on a chalkboard. You tilted your head back against the door, willing yourself not to cry again.

Steel doors don’t warp as easily as wood.

You swallowed hard, your body aching as you fought the sob threatening to escape. He didn’t deserve this—didn’t deserve to sound so wrecked over you. He'd done this to himself.

Your fingers twitched against the door handle, the temptation to open it curling around you, but instead, you thought about bolts.

Deadbolts, a second lock could work, something he couldn’t get through even if he had the key.

His voice wavered again, you thought he might start crying, too, yet all you did was glance at the base of the door. A better seal would muffle the noise more. Maybe weatherstripping? That could help.

You pressed your hands tighter over your ears, as though it would help. It didn’t. Nothing would—not until you replaced the lock, the door, the memory of him standing there and breaking himself open for you.

God, you really needed a new door—and a new heart.

One that didn’t twist at the sound of his voice, that didn’t flinch every time he called your name like it was a prayer. A heart that didn’t feel for him, you told yourself, over and over, like a mantra. If you could just stop the way your chest tightened at his pleas, stop the ache in your ribs when he said he couldn’t let this go.

You wanted steel walls, that could keep everything out—his voice, his touch, the memories of all the good parts of him that had kept you hanging on for so long. Because of this heart? It was useless, too soft, too easily swayed, still willing to believe him, even when you knew better.

“Please, just talk to me,” Rafe begged. You bit your lip hard enough to taste blood.

You couldn’t help but wonder if this calmness came from Sofia.

Perhaps she was the reason he’d changed, maybe she had somehow made him different, had softened the sharp edges of the guy you used to know. She was calm, collected—nothing like you. It hurt like a bitch, the thought that someone else could make him this patient. You wondered if she’d taught him how to handle his emotions, how to be this way—he’d learned some secret he never bothered to share with you.

You couldn't let yourself go there, couldn't let the bitterness of that thought settle in your mind for too long.

“Talk to me.”

No. Not this time.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

@rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron

@serrendiipty @sunny1616 @yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog

@psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

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fanged-fanfics · 2 months ago

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☆ "You Can Have My Last Name" — Zaunites x GN Reader ☆

Genre: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

A/N: I'm pretty sure this idea is like. Everywhere by now. But people from Zaun/the Undercity don't really have surnames so plot is basically what if Reader offered up theirs. Simple and cute type stuff idk I wanted some fluff

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

Viktor

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Mentioned the nature of his lack of a surname rather casually, while venting about how Piltover kept trying to say his paperwork was 'invalid' for lacking one. He explained to you that it was common for anyone in the Undercity, and that most from there didn't have one at all

ᯓᡣ𐭩 More confused than anything when you offer yours, or he at least pretends to be. The truth is the idea flustered him coming from you so casually, so to cope he acted like he didn't know what you were implying

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Thinks about it for several weeks afterwards, subconsciously mulls over how your name would sound paired with his in his mind. He writes it down a few times too, just to test it out. Finds out pretty quickly that he likes the sound of it

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Doesn't miss the implications a bit, as a matter of fact she IMMEDIATELY flirts back by asking if you'd really give your precious name to any pretty face you come across

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Teases you about the idea relentlessly any time the subject of names is brought up, or in any way she can really. Often makes jokes that she's gonna make a fool out of the name

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Secretly actually very honored that you'd offer it up to her but she doesn't feel like admitting that yet, you're gonna have to deal with jokey teasing for a good while first

Jinx

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Snarkily says she wouldn't be a good fit for your name to hide the fact that she really doesn't think she deserves to be considered a part of your life

ᯓᡣ𐭩 "Ohh, you might be crazy too if you're gonna give it to someone like me"

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Feels kinda bad that she wouldn't have anything like that to offer you in return. She loves the idea of having a family to belong to again, but her own self doubt gets in the way of admitting that to herself

Ekko

ᯓᡣ𐭩 "Oh- uh- what??"

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Genuinely very caught off guard. Not at all in a bad way, he just doesn't know how to respond to such a sudden and blatant flirt. Quickly tries to think of something to say as you're chuckling and reassuring him it's okay

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He ends up telling you through his fluster that it's not really gonna bring you any good to proudly announce a Zaunite as part of your family name. But in the end, he gives you a soft smile and says it's a nice thought he isn't against

Sevika

ᯓᡣ𐭩 "Is that so?"

ᯓᡣ𐭩 More keen on the idea than you'd might think- tells you it wouldn't be such a bad idea, but you'd have to prove it's a name worth adopting first, teasingly daring you to make it a name you'd both be proud to wear

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Tells you to reconsider once or twice, but mostly because she loves seeing how determined you get when defending her right to bear your name

Silco

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Doesn't pick up on what you're implying at first at all, simply tells you that isn't how that works and you're talking nonsense

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You have to prod into the implications a little more to get him to finally register what you're actually trying to say. It takes him a moment, but when he catches on he falls silent for a while

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Ends up mildly tripping over his words while telling you he's not really someone to give such an important thing to, and that you should get a better head on your shoulders and keep focused (largely to hide the fact that the offer genuinely caught him off guard. He's never gonna stop thinking about it)

Vander

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Actually not against the idea. Seems to chuckle it off at first, but once he realizes you're being serious he fondly mulls over the idea with you while cleaning up for the night

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Recognizes the idea might not be very feasible, but hey, what's wrong with having hope? Everyone's allowed to have dreams to chase, right? No harm in chasing this one together, then

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Promises that once things are settled down enough that he'll try to make it happen with you. As long as the kids he takes in are all alright with you, of course

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yougavememyopia · 2 months ago

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Kidnapper! Yandere (2)

Tags: PT 1. 18+, desperate sub, angst ig, finger sucking, spit (a bit), choking, handjob

-----------------------♡♡-------------------------

"Are you not gonna talk to me?" Your kidnapper pouted, tilting his head innocently. He was good at pretending like the situation you were in was normal. "Come on, I thought you enjoyed last night..."

The events replayed in your head. You felt a rush of heat as you recalled the events. Your body was sore. Very, very sore.

"I'll wait as long as it takes, y'know. Just gonna sit here, and cuddle with you until you speak. Or you could talk to me now... Please?"

His side hug got tighter as silence grew. He whined loudly, burying his face in your marked neck. Your arms rested on your lap. You were not tied anymore. Free to do as you please. Not like you could walk though.

He had you dressed in clothes he stole from you before. They smelled like him. His embrace was warm, comfortable. Was it wrong to hug him back? You hadn't spoken since breakfast, trying to sort your feelings while he rested his head on your chest.

"Am I really that unlovable?" He whispered, but you heard him. You heard the pain in his voice, the shaky breath that escaped him. He was going to cry. Last time, it was out of pleasure when he was buried deep inside you, confessing his love over and over again.

He stopped hugging you, sitting up right. You shifted your position and looked at him. Those tears made you feel different. A bad twist in your stomach. Your hands gripped the fabric of your pants tighter, unsure of what to do.

"I thought I was doing something right. I was so convinced that after last night, things would be different. I thought everything would be different. I love you! I showed you how much love I can give you. In every way possible. I'd do anything for you. Isn't that enough?"

You held in your sigh. Poor, delusional boy. Mistaking true love for an obsession. Kidnapping, forcing, manipulating, all in the name of love. You shouldn't blame him. Apperently, no one taught him how to behave normally.

"W-why are you looking at me like that? Please don't look at me like that! I can't have you hate me. Please don't hate me. Please. Please. Please."

He was sobbing loudly. He was always very loud. Very emotional. Very weak. He was shaking. Snot running down his nose and he quickly wiped them with his sleeve.

"I don't want you to leave. I don't want to be alone. I need you. I need you. I can't live without you. I can't breathe without you. I'll die without you!"

He grabbed the hand you reached out to him. Holding it with his unusually cold hands. His whole body was shaking, his other hand wrapped around his mouth to silence himself, his fat tears still streaming down his face. He seemed out of it, staring at the floor with wide eyes while you stared at him profile. Then he fell down to the floor. Right in front of the couch, on his knees, looking up at you. His hands clasped around yours as he started pleading with you.

"You're angry, right? That's all, you're just angry! That's okay. You can take it all out on me. I don't mind it. At all. My body is for your use. I'm yours. I'm all yours. So go on. Hit me. Slap me. Punch me. Spit on me. Step on me. Choke me. Abuse me. What will make you satisfied? Please, tell me..."

He looked up at you with glassy eyes. His tears finally stopped. He loosened his grip on your hand, and you quickly cupped his face. He sighed in relief, nuzzling into your palm. He was waiting. Waiting for your answer, your approval, any scrap of love that you'll give to him. He needed it so badly that he was willing to do anything.

"Use me. Degrade me. Control me. Just talk to me. Pay attention to me. Love me! Please! I'm yours. I'm all yours to use."

You grazed his bottom lip, his lips immediately parted. You mumbled to him to lick your fingers. Your index and middle rubbing against his tongue. He moaned, immediately lapping your skin. His mouth closed around them, and he sucked while keeping eye contact. His lewd look was enough to send a rush between your legs.

"Aah~" He kept making sounds as he licked between your fingers. His face twisted in pleasure. Laying his head on the soft plush of your thigh. He pulled away, and you allowed him to talk. "Punish me. Please punish me. I've been a bad boy, right? You can't just let me get away with it. You need to teach me a lesson-!"

He groaned out the last word as your leg pressed against the hardness of his pants. You sighed, feeling him go stiff. "Sure, I'll teach you a lesson."

"Mmh, ah.. thank you. Fuck. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I can't say it enough. Now please, please, use me. Use me. I'm yours. I'm yours. Yoursyoursyoursyours!"

You stopped moving your leg against his crotch, and he stopped humping it. Each movement was making him more excited, but he didn't protest when you stopped. You patted the spot next to you, and he obediently came back to sit on the couch.

"Let me tell you what's going to happen." You face him, holding his hands in yours. He squeezed them, and you assumed that was his way of ignoring the tent in his pants. "Things are going to be different. You're not gonna hold me hostage. I'm allowed to leave. But I'll live with you. And we could be like spouses or whatever you said last night."

His face went through several emotions. From excited, to confused, to scared, and back to happy. He opened his mouth, but you immediately shushed him. You covered his mouth, glaring at him. "You're not allowed to talk until after I'm done helping you with your problem."

He nodded. You felt him gulp as you stared at the bulge in front of his pants. Your own core throbbed. The thought of seeing him make those noises and look at you with that lovesick look on his face had you clenching your thighs together. Last night was all about making you come, so you never actually got to see him. You felt excited. "Let me see you. Go on."

He immediately pulled down his pants and boxers, his cock springing out. Precum was rolling down the tip, his legs spread wider, and his hands grabbed the sides of the couch. He whimpered as you stared at him for a bit. You started by spitting down on him, grazing his tip with your thumb before stroking his length. There was no need for it, but you just wanted to test out all the things he said before. He reacted by pushing his hips up. His thighs were shaking. His head fell back, and his back arched.

"Nngh! Fuck.. Aah, that feels so good. Thank.. you-!" The look he gave you was filled with absolute love. His words all mumbled up. "B-but why aren't you punishing me? I thought-"

You cut him off by speeding up. He whined loudly, hips thrusting up to meet with your strokes. "Let's take it easy right now, okay? Plus, we have plenty of time for all that."

"But you should punish me 'cause I'm about to come. Ah! Sorry! Sorry.. can't take much more. It feels so good! Ah, fuck."

You chuckled. "Come on then. Come for me." Your other grabbed his throat and squeezed it. His hips thrusted up immediately. He made a loud pleasured noise, his teary eyes fluttering shut as he finished. His stomach got all messy, as did your hand. You helped him calm down through his high, giving a few gentle strokes. "There you go. Good boy. Such a good boy..."

Your clean hand met up to stroke his hair while he cried happily. Whispering thank you's, and opening his mouth to clean your fingers from his release. Smiling happily at you as you messaged his scalp. His hair was so soft. You gripped his chin, leaning in to kiss his lips.

"You know if you do that, I'll get excited again.. And then you'll have to punish me for real."

You softly laughed, deciding to kiss him anyway. He responded by pressing his lips happily against yours. His mouth opened to allow your tongue in. Soft sounds escaping botn of you. Last night was repeating itself. This time, it'll be all about him.

#desperate yandere #obsessive love #yanblr #yandere #yandere oc #male yandere #yandere male #sub yandere #finger sucking #sub character #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #sub kidnapper

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tthoroughfare · 2 months ago

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trying to make your ex jealous by using ellie as a prop in your ig story hahahaha

she's been in front of your mirror for, like, ten minutes as you direct her on how to stand, how to put her arms around you. you laugh as you cycle through the pictures you'd gotten, ellie looking over your shoulder.

"ellie, these suck. you look so fucking awkward." none of them actually look like you're with a romantic prospect; it's painfully obvious it's set up, ellie craning her neck to hide her face and looking like she's petrified to touch you. you swipe onto a particular picture, zooming in on her hand. "also, in that one you can literally see your tattoo, you gotta pull your sleeve down more."

she automatically tugs at the sleeve of her hoodie, covering the ink swirling down from her wrist. "damn... yes ma'am. didn't realize it was that serious."

"well, otherwise she's gonna know it's you. and that'd be so fucking embarrassing."

she scoffs lightly. "kind of embarrassing faking photos to try and make someone jealous, anyway."

"oh, please. shut up," you retort, rolling your eyes. she'd seemed to be a little grumpy about the whole thing as soon as you asked her to do it:

"this is stupid."

"why does it have to be me? get dina to do it, she'd love this shit."

"you're so cringe."

you get back into position, gesturing at ellie. "m'kay, come back."

she shuffles closer again, hesitantly going to place her hands on your waist.

"this is why they look stupid, your hand placement's wrong." you gently grasp at her wrist, manually moving her right hand upwards and to the side, wrapping her arm further around you and allowing her fingers to rest just below your left breast. "like, you don't look like you wanna fuck me, you're just... standing there like you're at gunpoint."

"yeah, i am," she murmurs, looking down and gingerly pressing herself flush against your back. you ignore the comment, taking the back of her head and pulling it so that her chin's resting on your shoulder.

"don't worry if your face is in it, i'm probably just gonna crop it anyway," you comment as you snap another few photos, placing your hand over hers. she tries not to pay any mind to the way you subconsciously swipe your thumb across the back of her hand, the way it makes her stomach flutter.

you pivot your phone so she can see it whilst you flip through the new photos you'd taken. you're still running your fingertips over her hand, and she doesn't think you even realize you're doing it. "see, these ones are way better. they look way more realistic."

you go to take some more, and ellie hesitantly leans further in, nuzzling at your neck.

"wait, that's good," you begin. "pull your hood up, so i don't have to crop it."

blowing air out of her nose, she does as you say before returning her hand to its original position. she feels a little emboldened, borderline forgetting the whole thing is pretend as she presses a couple of tiny kisses to your neck; stopping when she feels you tense.

you pause before laughing shakily, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "method acting. nice."

ellie awkwardly laughs along, kicking herself mentally. she doesn't even know why she did it, where she mustered the balls. it was automatic.

you take a final couple, then pull away and sit cross-legged on your bed. she tugs her hood down, running a hand through her hair as she sits next to you, peering down at your phone while you flick through all of the photos.

"i think that one," you say when you stop on a particular image, pressing your thumb to the screen in emphasis. "it's hot, and you can't really tell it's you."

ellie pulls a face as she nods. "go for it."

your brow furrows as you notice her expression. "... what's with you?"

she shrugs, mouth downturning. "i don't know, i just think it's kinda stupid. why do you even want her back? she was, like... a dick to you."

"i don't want her back," you reply. "i just want her to see it and be like... 'oh, shit'."

"but, like, still... why are you even thinking about her?"

you sigh lightly, looking down at your phone. "i don't know... she fucked me over a lot, and now she's trying to act like she's doing all great and everything. just wanna give her something to feel... y'know, a little shitty over."

"fair enough," she replies half-heartedly. "i just don't even think you should care. you can do better."

you scoff. "well, it's not exactly happening for me."

she doesn't say anything back, just looks at you and shrugs, toying with her sleeve. there's a slightly uncomfortable feeling in the room as you meet her gaze, one you don't understand.

"so can i post it, or no?"

ellie's hands turn upwards in gesture. "sure."

"right," you respond, opening instagram and getting the picture up to put on your story, flicking through songs and deciding which one to add to it. she moves closer, watching as you do so.

"gotta be clairo," she remarks, to which you chuckle.

you post the photo, and resist the urge to check if your ex has viewed it every five minutes. ellie puts a silly movie on, and you actually manage to forget about it as you make commentary between yourselves, laughing along.

until your phone buzzes; dina's reacted '😂' to your story, and sent you a reply:

"that's ellie 😭😭😭😭😭 you fucking idiot"

you sit up as you open the messages, covering your mouth and scoffing. turning your phone so that ellie can see, you watch her eyes glimmer in amusement as she lets out a laugh.

"i'm taking it down," you say firmly, between giggles.

ellie raises her eyebrows, training her eyes back on the TV. "told you."

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dollishmehrayan · 2 months ago

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# “MRS. WAYNE I THINK THIS IS FOR YOU!” ── .✦ ( bruce wayne wife headcannons )

a/n: this was request by a anon (here) so yeah but anyways I Lowkey used to be OBSESSED with like batmom stories but like I genuinely then lost all care for liking anything bruce wayne but this might just like help me (jason todd girly converts into a batmom Stan😭) tags: (bruce wayne x fem!reader)

CHAOTIC HEADCANNONS ── .✦

“No, Bruce. That’s Not a Normal Thing to Do.”

You frequently have to remind him that billionaire habits don’t translate to normal life.

Bruce: “I thought I’d buy out the café you like so you wouldn’t have to wait in line.”

You: “Bruce, we’re just getting lattes. Calm down.”

The expensive car Dilemma: He’s tried picking you up in one of his expensive cars once, and you’ve never let him live it down.

“Bruce, we’re not running a car dealership we’re going to Target.”

Tech Mishaps: Bruce likes to show off his gadgets, but they always malfunction around you. Once, the Batcomputer locked him out because you accidentally spilled coffee near it. You took a picture of his shocked face and made it your phone wallpaper for weeks.

The Disastrous Cooking Attempts: Bruce insists he can cook. The truth? Alfred banned him from the kitchen after he tried to “surprise” you with pancakes and set the stovetop on fire.

“I’m Batman, but I can’t handle pancake batter.”

OVERPROTECTIVE HUSBAND™ ── .✦

He’ll interrogate any new friends you bring around like they’re suspects in a heist.

Bruce, shaking someone’s hand firmly: “And what do you do for a living?”

You, glaring: “Bruce, they’re not applying to join the Justice League.”

GOSSIP FINAL BOSS ── .✦

He pretends not to care about gossip, but he secretly listens to you rant about gala drama. Sometimes, he’ll even chime in with hilariously accurate observations.

You: “That woman was glaring at me all night.”

Bruce: “Because she kept seeing her husband looking at you’re instagram posts. Trust me, Alfred told me.”

ROMANTIC HCS ── .✦

Constant Gentleman Mode: Bruce is always opening doors for you, carrying your bags, or pulling out your chair. You tease him about being old-fashioned, but it’s clear he loves taking care of you.

Private Dance Lessons in the Manor: When you’re stressed, Bruce will put on some music in the empty ballroom and sweep you into an impromptu dance. He’s a surprisingly good dancer, but the way he looks at you mid-spin? That’s what makes your heart race.

Personal Love Notes: Bruce doesn’t text much, but he leaves little handwritten notes around the house.

“Don’t forget, you’re the best part of my day.”

“Coffee’s ready downstairs. So is your husband, who can’t stop thinking about you.”

The ‘I’m Watching You’ Look: At galas, Bruce can’t stop staring at you. When you catch him, he gives that little smirk that says, Yeah, you caught me, but I’m not sorry.

Soft Batman Moments: Even in the Batcave, he has moments where he’s just your Bruce. When he sees you waiting up for him late at night, he’ll silently take off his cowl, walk over, and hold you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Protective, but Not Controlling: He worries, of course, but he respects your independence. If you’re ever in trouble, though, the Bat is out faster than you can blink. “No one touches my wife.”

Gift Giving Expert: He puts serious thought into gifts. One time, he recreated your childhood bedroom in the manor when you were feeling homesick. “I just wanted you to feel at home,” he said, completely nonchalant.

The Morning Ritual: He wakes up early to watch you sleep for a few minutes (in the least creepy way possible) because it’s his quiet reminder of how lucky he is. When you stir awake, he presses a kiss to your forehead and whispers, “Good morning, love.”

Subtle Public Affection: In public, his affection is subtle—hand on the small of your back, thumb grazing your hand, or an almost imperceptible wink across the room. But behind closed doors? He’s all cuddles and kisses.

Always Puts You First: Whether it’s cutting a patrol short to spend time with you or risking everything to keep you safe, Bruce’s priority will always be you. “The city can wait. You can’t.”

MIX OF CHAOS AND ROMANCE ── .✦

When Bruce tries to be romantic but Alfred bringing him back to reality: Bruce, holding your hand: “You’re the light in my dark world.”

Alfred, walking in: “Sir, you said that to the last woman, too. Shall I fetch your script?”

You once jokingly wore a bat-symbol T-shirt to tease him. Bruce didn’t say anything, but later that week, he wore a matching shirt that said, “I <3 My Wife.”

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #batmom #wfa #batboys #dcu #batman x reader #batman #batfamily #batfam #dc #bruce wayne headcanon #bruce wayne imagine #dollish #batman utrh #dc comics #mrs wayne #wayne family adventures

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plethorawrites · 13 days ago

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How the Batboys would react to finding out and dealing with you self harming/having severe depression.

TW: Mentions of cuts, blood, suicidal thoughts, incorrect use of pills, sort of implied eating disorders.

Please don't read if this could upset you in any way.

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---_

Bruce:

The first time he notices is also the first time you spend the night. The lights were dark and you were both a bit buzzed after downing several glasses of champagne to endure a boring event he invited you to as an excuse to see you. Of course he was more concerned with kissing the inside of your thighs than noticing the little healed scars on them.

He notices them the next morning though, when the sun is streaming through the window and you get up to find your clothes while assuming he's asleep. He wasn't. He saw the marks. The scars. He refrained from saying a word about them, waiting weeks for you to open up about them on your own terms. He could see they were healed so he wasn't terribly worried at that moment.

When you finally told him, you said you'd been clean for months. He had no reason to suspect you would start again.

But you did.

He didn't know the exact day, or the specific reason, all he knew is that you stopped wearing shorts to bed and stopped letting him leave the lights on to see you when you were intimate. You stopped smiling as often, too.

Of course, being a detective, he can tell when you start getting lethargic, not from work or stress but simply life itself. He hears when your words have less meaning, and your expressions are false. He makes it his mission to not let you fall into the spiral any more than you already have.

You might not want to tell him you're hurting yourself but he'd be damned if he didn't do whatever he could to make you stop. That started by holding you tighter at night so you couldn't sneak off to the bathroom to cut, he'd ask you to visit him at work, insist on every meal being at a restaurant so you didn't even have time to try to hurt yourself. And of course, he helps with the tasks you start struggling with, but pretends he doesn't notice.

He just says "Can I practice braiding your hair so I can help Cassandra?" and use it as a chance to make sure you don't start letting your hair tangle.

He even makes the braid a bit crooked even though he can French braid perfectly, just to sell it. He'll wash it, too, claiming it's: "A good excuse to spend time together." after a long day.

He just wants to make sure it's not getting greasy. He can see the guilt on your face when you sit in the tub, staring at the wall. You wanted to tell him to stop, that you could wash your own hair. But you probably couldn't. It felt like too much work and you just wanted to sink underneath the water of the tub for a few minutes of peace. He kept you upright though, kissing the back of your shoulder, the side of your neck, your cheek, making you hum.

You weren't able to feel much, emotionally speaking, but you could feel gratitude and love.

When he notices you skipping meals because you can't drag yourself to the kitchen or bother to cook, he will. He'll make anything, even if you change your mind about what sounds good and make him cook six different dishes before eventually accepting one of them. He doesn't care. He just wants you to eat. The second you show the slightest bit of interest in something, anything, it's yours. You make a comment about the beach sounding nice, the next thing you know he's taken the day off work and is driving you there with the top of a convertible down.

You say you kind of miss one of your old hobbies— be it painting or crochet, it doesn't matter what, the next day the nicest stuff for you to get back into it arrives. Fresh paints, massive canvases or imported yarn and crystal hooks. He watches, intently when you start to focus on something you like again, the heavy ache in his heart subsiding when he gets to show enthusiasm about your project when it's done.

You start holding him again at night, your face buried in his chest instead of sleeping facing the wall. One night you slide into bed wearing shorts and he can see your scars, red ones among the old faded pale ones from when you first met.

He knows they'll heal too in time. Just like you have.

---

Dick: He doesn't realize there's anything wrong several months into dating you until he catches you taking some pills when he was walking back into the room and later searched up the name, figuring out they're antidepressants.

He can't believe he didn't see it sooner and hates that you were always putting on a fake smile with him. He wants you to talk about it, but understands that it's hard for you too and your every attempt to open up to him ends with you in tears or walking out in frustration because the words won't form.

He suggests (very strongly) that you see a therapist and after some gentle coaxing, you agree. He sits in the car the entire time waiting for you and when you come out, numb for a few minutes as you sit there in silence before sobbing uncontrollably for the 20 minutes in the parking lot. He gets you whatever you want after— ice cream, cheesecake, brownies. Whatever you're craving.

He takes you every week, sometimes multiple times a week. He never complains and he's ALWAYS there. He'll wake up early, even if he barely slept. He'll skip family lunch, he'll rush out of a bank robbery just shouting for his brothers to handle it without him. It doesn't matter what, he'll be there.

He's taken to heavy positive affirmations, as well. He puts sticky notes up in the bathroom with smiley faces for whenever you brush your teeth or put on moisturizer. There are little hearts and words of encouragement on the front of the fridge and inside of it too for when you manage to crave a snack. Hopefully something healthy like fruit, but even if it's junk food, it's better than an empty stomach.

Every morning he wakes you up and tells you you're beautiful and he's grateful to have you.

He likes to remind you not to push yourself as well. "If you just manage to wash your hair, you'll have done something" and "If that's too hard, I'll help you make the bed." But also..."If you don't do anything at all today, you still survived. That alone is difficult, but you're doing it."

Every night he lays it on even thicker because he knows it gets harder at night. "I'm so proud of you for making it through another day." And... "I know it sucks right now but I promise I'll help you get through this." And... "Just take it one day at a time."

When you get homework from your therapist— to do 3 hard tasks over one week, make a list of every negative and positive thought to see them out loud and deduce why you have them, physical exercise—he does it with you. No matter how foolish or seemingly simple it is.

Your therapist told you to do something you struggle with? Done. He'll stand behind you while you do the dishes and help you dry.

You need to get something from a store that's dozens of miles away? Road trip. He'll buy the snacks and take turns driving so you don't het stressed out burn out.

You're told to get some physical exercise? He'll be your partner for whatever kind you want to do. Jogging in the park, keeping a slower pace than usual for you, practicing on rings while you climb the stairmaster—he falls, because he's distracted by your ass. But that's besides the point.

When you start to show signs of feeling better, that therapy is working, he's elated. And after several months and things are better, much better, you tell him whenever you're feeling off. Whenever that nagging feeling comes back over you. You guys work through it then and there to keep it from getting bad again.

Though sometimes, when he's leaving for work, you'll pout and say you feel sad just to get him to stay. You both know it's not a depressed feeling. You just don't want him to leave and he'll indulge you. "Oh, well, if that's the case, I'll just have to stay in bed with you until you feel better."

---

Jason: He's busy. Always. But that didn't mean he was oblivious. Yet, that's exactly how he felt when he realized you'd been abusing your medicine. He knew after the first few dates that you were on medication for chronic depression and he was more than understanding about it. Millions of people suffered from it, himself occasionally included.

But when he's laying in bed and catches you sneaking into the bathroom to take three more pills than you're supposed to, he's caught off guard. Then you slide down to the floor, sitting crisscrossed, making small cuts on your thighs, wincing in pain the entire time. It takes every ounce of self control not to jump out of bed and rip the blade from your hand. He contemplates it, he really does. But that would just make things worse. So he waits.

It keeps him up all night, though he pretends to sleep. And in the morning, you're back out of bed, taking more and sliding back in bed, pretending to wake up just like him.

He blames himself entirely.

He thinks he should have been better, done more, noticed something that made it better. It was his job to support you and protect you and he had failed and that killed him in ways that seemed unimaginable.

After an incredibly difficult conversation where he confesses to knowing you've been filling scripts you don't need and taking more than necessary, you're both an emotional mess. But he assures you he's not leaving or angry, just scared for you. He wants to help but needs you to let him.

He absolutely dedicates himself to keeping you away from anything even remotely dangerous.

The knives in the kitchen? Gone.

Even the butter knives are plastic now.

The razors in the bathroom? Thrown out in a trashcan outside so you couldn't find them.

Even the little blade in the pencil sharpener is taken out.

He won't let you have your pill bottles either, at least not at first. He makes sure you take them everyday, morning and night, then after several weeks starts to let you handle them by yourself.

He still sneaks out of bed to count them and make sure you weren't taking more than prescribed. He insists on being the one to wrap your arms, cleaning them to make sure they don't get infected. And wiping your legs as well. He has to remind himself not to squeeze them too hard, the way he wants to.

While holding you at night he makes sure not to hurt them, even though he wants to hold you much tighter to comfort himself as reassurance you're alright. He listens, late at night when you're whispering to avoid crying. When you explain the feeling it gave you. He knows it.

Once they heal and he can hold you tighter, not as afraid of hurting you by squeezing your thighs the way he likes to. He starts kissing them each night, making sure you know they're not embarrassing or shameful.

He's got scars on most of his body; you were the one to teach them to appreciate them. If he could return the favor, he would. A thousand times over.

He tells you the same things you told him. "You made it through."

---

Tim: When you tell Tim, and by tell I mean confess after he figured it out on his own, you're surprised to find that he doesn't have much of a reaction immediately. He stays quiet, hums a little, nods along. He never interrupts but you see his eyes glazing over a bit, the way they do when the gears start turning in his head. He knew, of course, that you had depression.

He knew you hurt yourself, not in the traditional way of cutting or attempting suicide, but in much subtler ways, like forcing yourself to finish a meal even though you're full and your stomach hurts, taking boiling hot showers that leave your skin red and raw practically painful to even touch from how dry it is, making yourself stay up late and function on the fewest hours of sleep possible.

You purposely made life harder for yourself and for the most part, didn't even realize it. He did, though. What he didn't realize was the amount of medicine you'd tried, to the point you felt none of them worked, the amount of therapists and psychiatrists you had seen, the level of depression you had truly sunk to before. It hurt him to realize once you started opening up. He wanted to make that pain go away. So, he researched. Constantly.

He wants to know every single thing that can cause depression, the statistics of self harm leading to suicide, the effectiveness of different treatments or facilities. He knows every antidepressant, their side effects, their manufacturers, and dosages. He suggests inpatient care for you, but absolutely refuses to send you to someplace like Arkham.

Instead, he finds the best of the best, way out of the city, where the entire staff passed his background check, the facility was up to date on every code possible, and the rules seemed relaxed enough to let you feel like yourself while also making sure you're safe. He's allowed to visit and does so as soon as possible, even manages to get extra hours in the night. You have the best of care there, too, he knows because he can see it on your face every time he's there.

The food is wonderful, the private room you have is nice (even if you miss his warmth at night), the activities they make you do remind you of the hobbies you used to love before they became unbearable. Even therapy sessions, always private because Tim knew you wouldn't want to speak about it in a group, are rather helpful.

When you get out after a few weeks, he's right there, waiting, like always. And he's got the biggest smile because he can see immediately the light back in your eyes that he missed so much. He keeps up with some of the tactics you learned or hobbies you started while there, gladly sitting on the floor with you while you do paper mache.

He always makes sure you know you're not weak for needing help and if you ever feel like you need to go back, even just for a week, or weekend, he'll be there for you. Just like always.

---

(Aged up. I imagine you both in LOA)

Damian: It didn't take a genius to know you were a miserable person. Most people in the league of assassins were. He rather liked your level of misery, usually. It was cynical, with a touch of wit and dark humor that always made him feel seen.

It wasn't until he caught sight of a few scars on your calf that he didn't recognize that he started to realize you were more miserable than he had originally thought. You tried to play it off, claiming you got hurt in a sparring match. But that was a lot and he knew it. Because A) you never lost. And B) the cut was at an angle a sword wouldn't be able to reach unless you were the one holding it.

You clearly didn't want to talk about it, so he wouldn't make you. He was always taught that emotions were weak and even though he didn't fully believe it as he used to, he still isn't big on a lot of sentimentality. Which is fine, because you aren't either.

He still keeps a quiet, very close eye on you. Maybe you noticed, maybe you didn't. He wasn't sure. He didn't care either way. He was worried and with your recent behavior, he felt he had every right to be. You started putting in less effort during training, if you even showed up at all. He'd find you on the balcony at night, leaning your head against the railing and staring at the gardens with a blank expression.

Even the things he knew you loved— your favorite foods, the music you liked to listen to on a record player while you got ready for bed. It stopped appealing to you. The meticulous way you'd fix your hair before bed every single night abruptly stopped, too. You simply fell asleep with it as is and woke up with it tangled. You still held him at night, but it felt less like an embrace for the both of you and more like you were clinging to him like a life line.

He pays extra close attention and anytime he isn't allowed to be by your side, he makes sure someone else is. It's hard to keep you away from sharp objects, given nearly everything around them was a weapon, but he tries to get you to vent your rage by cutting training dummies and not yourself.

He also takes you to the quieter, more secluded wing, into an empty room with pillows on the floor. He makes you sit with him and meditate, which he knows is hard at first, boring and you don't have the most energy, but he holds your hand, his fingers pressed to your pulse to make sure you're listening when he tells you to take a deep breath in and think— not of what you're grateful for, like some might suggest. No. Instead of asking you what you want to live for, he asks you what you can't die without. The grudges you're holding, the projects you haven't finished, the people who are just waiting to see you fail. He won't let you let them win.

And it works. That passion and drive slowly comes back with his help and support at your side, doing your hair for you at night and making sure someone brought you a meal three times a day even if he wasn't around to make sure you ate. Your need to be the best and spite anyone who thinks you aren't returns after a while.

One night he finds you training alone, sweat dripping from your brow, your scars both won in battle and self inflicted on display. Instead of interrupting, he simply watches, admiring your form which had improved since you started picking up your sword more often. He loved watching you find your spirit again.

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